


Haunted By the Ghost of You

by AnimationNut



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, But I also deviate from canon dialogue a bit, Clay is the only one who can see her, Closure, Don't copy to another site, Events will be mentioned but not described in graphic detail, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Ghost Hannah Baker, Ghost Powers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, No Graphic Content, No Major Swearing, Work Contains Quotes From Show, the warning is just to be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 77,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimationNut/pseuds/AnimationNut
Summary: Maybe Clay would be able to heal from the loss of his first love if she wasn't literally haunting him. He's the only one who can see Hannah's ghost, and this makes listening to her tapes all that much harder. But maybe now the things left unsaid can be said, and maybe Clay can help her more in death than he could in life.
Relationships: Hannah Baker & Clay Jensen, Hannah Baker/Clay Jensen
Comments: 93
Kudos: 108





	1. Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own 13 Reasons Why.
> 
> Basically a what-if story. What if Clay really did see and communicate with Hannah's ghost? What would his journey through the tapes look like with her by his side? 
> 
> There will be no major swearing or graphic content.

Sometimes, he wondered if he was going crazy.

Ever since Hannah committed suicide, he saw her everywhere. In the halls, standing still as crowds of students flowed past her. In classes, sitting in her chair, as if nothing had ever happened. But he was too numb to dwell much on it, to consider perhaps he ought to seek help for seeing hallucinations.

He’d seen one just now—she’d been standing at a locker across the way, near two girls he didn’t know but knew Hannah wasn’t really friends with. In a blink she was gone, and he stared blankly at the two conversing girls, their faces bright with happiness, and he turned away. He glanced over at Hannah’s locker, which had been so close to his own. Pictures of her plastered the blue metal door, along with tribute notes.

For a second, anger pulsed in his stomach, a burn that chased away some of the numbness. He’d perused some of the notes. They were signed by people who hadn’t said a single word to Hannah when she was alive. Their condolences and sympathy were false.

He’d tried writing a note himself, to pin to her locker. She deserved something sincere. But he couldn’t find the right words, and his hand shook every time he tried, leaving his penmanship illegible. He gave up, after a time, as seemed to be the trend when it came to Hannah.

He never tried hard enough.

He snapped his combination lock shut, ignoring the grief that swelled in his chest, and he approached Hannah’s locker, where two more unfamiliar girls took a selfie in front of it. He scowled after them before regarding the collection of colourful notes. At least a dozen more had been added since yesterday. None of them carried anything meaningful.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The accusing voice caused Clay to turn his head in surprise. Justin Foley, one of the kings and all-star jocks of Liberty High, glared at him. “Nothing. I’m just—”

“Looking for something?” cut in Justin, his voice not losing its hard edge.

“What would I be looking for?”

Justin took a step closer, and if Clay wasn’t drowning in nothingness, he might have stepped back. “You tell me.”

_He clearly thinks I’m someone else._

“Do you even know my name?”

Justin gave a slight scoff. “’Course I do, Clay.”

The bell trilled, signalling that class was starting, but for a minute the pair just stood, staring at each other silently. Justin surveyed Clay intently, as if he were searching for something. Clay stared passively back, having zero clue what was going on, but not in the mood to play whatever game Justin was getting at.

“Guys. Second bell.”

Mr. Porter’s voice cut through the stare-down and Justin backed up. With a sneer, Justin growled, “You’re not that innocent, Jensen. I don’t care what she says.”

He walked away and Clay stared after him. He wanted to call out, “What do you mean, she?”, but Mr. Porter was still there and Clay doubted Justin would even bother to answer. He trudged off to class and, when Mr. Porter was convinced he was going where he was meant to, he continued on down the hall.

A chill ran down Clay’s neck, a frequent occurrence over the past week, and he shivered slightly. He glanced over his shoulder and froze.

Hannah stood in the middle of the hall, in her white tank top and blue jeans, her long brown hair cascading down her shoulders. Clay’s breath caught in his throat and he blinked—and once again, she was gone.

Clay gave his head a hard shake, took a deep breath, and shuffled off to class.

Ever since Hannah died, communication class had been all about mental illness and how to identify signs that someone might be depressed or suicidal. More often than not, Clay zoned out, because he couldn’t stand to hear the things he should have done, or what he should have found concerning, and didn’t.

Her short hair. Which bounced above her shoulders, a drastically different cut from her waterfall of brown hair. He had complimented her. She seemed sincerely touched by it, and he had wanted to call her cute, but didn’t have the courage.

A glimpse of movement by the open classroom door caught his eye and he glanced up. The Bakers had been a presence at Liberty High over the week, often squirrelled away in Principal Bolan’s office, or Mr. Porter’s. It was the guidance counsellor right now who was leading them past the classroom and down the hall. They both looked pale and tired, with deep sadness in their eyes.

Clay hesitated for a moment. He looked over at Mrs. Bradley, whose back was to him, and he got up. He slipped quickly and quietly out of the classroom, his feet carrying him after the adults.

_What are you doing? What would you even say to them?_

He didn’t know. He felt he ought to say _something_.

But he’d never been great with words.

He paused when he came closer, watching as the Bakers stared inside Hannah’s locker, which was plain and lifeless. Clay found himself unable to remember if Hannah had ever decorated the inside of her locker like the other girls. She might have cleaned everything else out, and left the textbooks behind. It would have seemed suspicious if she tried to return them.

He should have paid better attention.

Mrs. Baker turned then, and her eyes locked with his. Terror grew in Clay’s gut, for this was a stupid idea, and he quickly turned on his heel and walked away. His cheeks flamed red with embarrassment. She probably thought he was gawking, trying to get a glimpse of the grieving parents of the girl who killed herself.

_Stupid, stupid._

By the time the final bell rang, he honestly couldn’t remember how much of how the day had gone. He hadn’t eaten at lunch, and he went through the motions of taking notes and writing down the homework he was supposed to do. It all just seemed so pointless, now that she was gone. They talked about Hannah, but they continued on with their lives as if nothing had changed.

And, Clay supposed, for most people, nothing really had changed.

He had a rather odd interaction with Courtney outside the school, while everyone was spilling out into the parking lot and sidewalks. She’d come up and hugged him, and after a brief exchange of words, she’d kissed him on the cheek.

He wasn’t close with Courtney. Her actions, along with Justin’s words earlier that afternoon, were baffling. Maybe some things _had_ changed. Though Clay didn’t understand their sudden acknowledgment of him.

Tony offered him a ride, which he accepted, because he didn’t feel like walking all the way home. They passed by the Crestmont Theatre, a small establishment that somehow managed to do well despite the obscure and old movies they played. His heart lurched and his chest tightened, and for a second it became hard to breathe.

Hannah had trained him, when he was hired. She’d written down Trainee on a massive piece of paper and stuck it to his front with tape. She’d done it with a good-humoured grin and he’d gone along with it, the warmth in her eyes causing his stomach to flutter.

Nowadays, there was just a hard weight in his gut.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Tony pulled up to his house. He hopped out, nodded at his friend and jogged up the path. There was a rectangular, brown-wrapped package on the porch and Clay bent down to pick it up. His name was written across the top in black marker and he furrowed his brow.

He unlocked the front door with his key and went into the kitchen. He found a pair of scissors and opened up the package, unearthing a decorated shoebox. He lifted the lid and found a local map inside, along with cassette tapes, the kind that Tony exclusively used.

“What are these?” he muttered to himself, staring the blue numbers that labelled each side of the plastic cassette tapes.

They definitely weren’t from Tony. The boy couldn’t be in two places at once, and Clay doubted the arts and crafts work with the shoebox was his thing.

He asked his father where his boom box was located, and lied to him when he asked how he was doing. He went into the workshop, found the boom box and plugged it in. He stuck in the first tape and pressed play.

_“Hey. It’s Hannah.”_

Clay reeled back, his eyes wide and his heartrate accelerating.

_It’s her._

For the first time in a week, he gave his full attention. The excitement rapidly faded when Hannah explained that because he received the tapes, he was one of the reasons why she died. Just as she started to explain the rules, a hand fell on his shoulder and he spazzed, smacking into the table and sending the boom box crashing to the floor.

Hannah’s voice cut out. His mother didn’t act like she’d heard it.

“What have we said about helicopter parenting, Mom?” he snapped.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she placated. “What is that you’re listening to?”

“School project. For history class.”

He frantically gathered the tapes. Lainie studied one curiously. “Can I listen?”

“No!” said Clay quickly. “Uh, it’s boring.”

She watched him for a moment as he packed everything up. “The school sent me another e-mail.”

“They’ve been doing that lately,” said Clay, tucking the shoebox underneath his arm. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“If you want to talk—”

“Mom, I’m fine. I didn’t really know her.”

“I thought you two worked together.”

“It doesn’t mean we were close,” said Clay, and he felt his throat start to tighten as his grief thickened. “I have to go do homework. I’ll be in my room.”

He seized the boom box from its landing spot on the floor and hurried to his bedroom. When he stepped over the threshold, the chill returned to his bones, and he stared at Hannah, who was sitting on the edge of his bed.

She stared back intently. “Can…can you see me?” she asked uncertainly.

The boom box clattered to the floor once again. He just barely managed to hang on to the shoebox, his fingers digging hard into the cardboard.

“I guess that’s a yes,” Hannah breathed. “This just got way more complicated.”


	2. Reunited

Clay’s knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, his back dragging against his closed door. It suddenly seemed as if all sound had vanished—there was nothing but his ragged, panicked breathing. He clutched at his chest, where his heart was working overtime.

Hannah stood, her eyes growing wide with concern. “Please don’t have a heart attack. I really can’t do anything to help you.”

“I’m insane,” Clay rasped, burying his head in his hands, the shoebox clattering by his feet. “I’ve lost my mind.”

“You haven’t!” said Hannah quickly. “I’m real—or, I’m a real ghost.” She flinched. “No, that’s not helping, is it?”

She looked towards his bookshelf, which was arranged in a not entirely organized manner. She raised her hand and a book that was lying on top a row of graphic novels hovered over to Clay. It knocked him lightly against the head and he looked up, eyes growing wide at the display of levitation.

“What?” he croaked.

Hannah lowered her arm and the book fell to the ground. “I guess a hallucination could do that too, but I don’t think you would hallucinate me with the ability to levitate things.”

Clay’s chest ached with anxiety. He gulped down some air, his blue eyes staring at Hannah, who did not disappear like she had the other times. He slowly stood up, where his legs shook violently and he had to grab his doorknob to keep himself balanced.

“Careful,” said Hannah, reaching out to him before realizing that it would be a useless endeavor. Agony flashed in her eyes. “This is—I’m sorry. Would it be better if I left?”

“No!” said Clay, his shout echoing in the room and causing Hannah to recoil. He took another large, gulping breath, and said in a softer voice that cracked slightly, “No.”

“Clay? Is everything all right?”

Clay quickly yanked open his bedroom door and shouted, “Yeah, Mom, everything is fine.”

Hannah gave a wry smile. “You don’t really look like everything is fine.”

His face was almost a deathly white. He managed to regain his balance and he moved across the floor. He hesitantly reached out to Hannah, who did not move. Their eyes met, both filled with disbelief and awe, and when his hand passed through her shoulder, the despair was just as sharp and torturous as a dagger piercing his flesh.

It felt like his hand had been doused in ice water but Clay did not pay it much mind. He drew it back and said, “I don’t—ghosts aren’t real.”

Hannah pursed her lips. “I think I’m supposed to find that offensive.”

Clay went over to his bed and sunk against the mattress. “You _were_ there,” he said in realization. “All those times I saw you in the halls or the classrooms. It wasn’t my imagination.”

“I thought it was just a coincidence, the first time you looked at me,” said Hannah, running her fingers through her long brown hair. “But it kept happening. For some reason, you’re the only one who can see me.”

Clay could not stop staring at her. Hannah was back. He was talking to her. She was talking to him. “What about your parents?”

Hannah snapped her head around to stare out his window, her fingers curling harder into her hair. “I’m not going to see them. I didn’t want to, before, but now—no. It’ll be too hard for them if they can see me.”

Clay wanted to ask, _what about me?_ But he swallowed the words and formed new ones. “Hannah—these tapes. It says that anyone who receives these tapes means they’re one of the reasons why your life ended. What the hell?”

His voice wavered and Hannah winced. She walked to the other side of his room, and if she were alive, she might have pulled out her hair, given the speed of her nervous pulling. “This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” she whispered. “The others were easier, because they didn’t know I was there, but it wasn’t—I wasn’t supposed to be watching. But I have nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do. But with you—maybe I shouldn’t be around when you listen.”

Clay stood. “Are you telling me I’m one of the reasons why you killed yourself?” he demanded.

She turned to face him, brown eyes bright, in a way that might have resembled tears. She couldn’t cry—not anymore. “I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be fair to the others.”

“What others?” asked Clay desperately.

“Listen to the first tape. Listen to the rules,” pleaded Hannah. “This is my last request, Clay. Please. I’ll…I’ll leave you so you can—”

“No,” said Clay, for though he was confused and hurt and scared, he didn’t want her to go. Not again. But he couldn’t voice his thoughts—as he never seemed to be able to around her. “I want you to stay.”

“Finish the first tape. The first side. And then…and then we’ll take it from there. Okay?”

Clay did not get a chance to respond. Hannah turned on her heel and went straight through his wall, disappearing outside. Clay rushed over and looked out the window, where her form was suddenly more translucent in the light of the setting sun.

Clay paced around his room, running his fingers through his short hair. He didn’t understand—what could he possibly have done to cause Hannah’s suicide? Why wouldn’t she tell him? What sort of game was this?

_This is my last request, Clay. Please._

Clay took a hard, trembling breath. He grabbed the boom box and set it on his desk. He stared at the buttons, horror rising in his gut when he realized the most important one was missing. He dropped to his hands and knees and scoured the floor, searching for the black button. He found it under his bed and he tried sticking it back into its place, but it didn’t work.

“Damn!” he hissed.

How was he supposed to find a way to listen to cassette tapes when they were now obsolete?

_Tony._

Tony had a Walkman. One that played cassette tapes. He used it all the time, and Clay remembered seeing it in his car when he drove him home.

He left his room and jogged down the stairs. “I’m going to Tony’s!” he shouted.

“Now?” said Lainie in bafflement. “It’s almost dinner.”

“It’s to do with the history project,” said Clay, trying to keep still though his insides were vibrating with renewed energy. “Can you save me some leftovers?”

“All right. Be sure to let me know if you’re going to be home late.”

“Yeah, I will.”

He kept an eye out for Hannah as he pedalled to Tony’s, who lived across town. But she did not appear, and Clay decided that if finishing the first tape would bring her back to him, it would be worth it.

Even if it was his tape.

…

He hadn’t intended on stealing Tony’s Walkman. He really hadn’t. But the opportunity had presented itself, and Clay just went for it. What would he tell Tony, anyway? His friend knew that he didn’t own any cassette tapes. Then Clay would have to lie about buying some, and Tony would ask what music was on them. If Clay flubbed up on that, Tony would catch him out right away.

It was easier to ask for forgiveness later than to ask for permission now.

His stomach had plummeted when Tony’s father asked if Hannah had left behind a note. Clay didn’t know. He didn’t want to ask.

He had stuck the first tape in his pocket before he left his house, and now he sat on a wooden bench on a hill overlooking the river. The breeze was consistent and the open space gave him a sense of calm. He turned the Walkman over in his hands before slipping in his earbuds.

_“There are only two rules. Rule Number One, you listen. Rule Number Two, you pass it on. Hopefully, neither one will be easy.”_

As Hannah continued speaking, Clay was even more confused. “Why the hell am I on this?”

Hannah’s voice grew cold as she explained she had made a copy of the tapes, and the person she left them with would release them to the public. Unable to keep still, Clay got back on his bike and went down random streets, the darkness now engulfing him, as Hannah said bitterly, _“This was not a spur of the moment decision. Do not take me for granted. Not again.”_

“I never did!” cried Clay.

The car came seemingly out of nowhere—but in reality, it had been right in front of his face, but he had been too engrossed in listening to Hannah to register it. He jerked his handlebars to the side to avoid it, only to careen into another car. The bumper knocked into his back tire and he crashed into a parked car, slamming his head hard off the ground on landing.

He lay in the grass, dazed and disoriented, the sound of squealing tires echoing in his ears. The earbuds had popped out and were nestled amongst the green blades, and he snagged them before shutting off the tape. Something warm and sticky ran down the side of his face and he gingerly prodded at it.

“Damn,” he said, staring at the blood coating his fingertips.

He didn’t think he had a concussion. His head didn’t hurt. Just a sharp stinging from the wound itself. He ignored it as he stuck in an earbud and pressed play.

_“Do what I say. Not more, not less. You’re being watched.”_

Clay sat in the middle of the sidewalk and looked around. In the darkness of the night, he was the only one in the neighbourhood.

Or so it seemed, anyway.

Not for the first time that day, Clay felt like he was going to throw up.


	3. Kiss

Clay’s feet worked overtime as he pedalled frantically back home. The blood had stopped flowing and dried in a clump around the injury. He internally cursed himself—he should have brought the map with him, just in case. But his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts that he couldn’t keep straight, and all he had focussed on was grabbing the first tape as he left the house.

It wasn’t like he could just listen to the tape without following the map. Hannah _would_ know, but perhaps not in the way she implied. The fact she was now a ghost, possibly watching his every move, made her words all that more chilling.

Clay parked his bike near the front steps and crept through the front door. He snuck upstairs and into his room, where the shoebox sat on his desk where he had left it. The map was right on top and he grabbed it, stuffing it into his pocket.

“Clay?”

Clay nearly jumped a foot into the air. “Mom! Stop sneaking up on me!”

Lainie’s eyes went wide at the sight of her son’s injury. She crossed the room and touched the edge of the wound with concern. “What happened?”

“I fell off my bike,” muttered Clay. “It’s nothing. I just came back to grab something. I’m going back to Tony’s.”

“You need to clean that up,” said Lainie firmly. “You’re not leaving until you do.”

Clay let out an agitated breath. “Okay, fine.”

“And wear this.” She grabbed his helmet from where it hung from his doorknob. “Be careful.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Clay took the helmet and went into the bathroom, where he scrubbed at the wound with a cloth doused with warm water. When the blood was rubbed away, he hastily dipped a cotton swab in some ointment and smoothed it over the gash. The resulting stinging was nothing compared to the initial impact of knocking his head off of concrete.

He haphazardly slapped a square bandage over the wound and jogged downstairs. He shouted a hasty goodbye over his shoulder before disappearing back into the night. He shoved the helmet over his head and buckled it before sticking the earbuds into place.

He identified the first location on the map and started off. Halfway towards his destination, a car went past him before pulling a U-turn and tailing him, the headlights bright against his back and illuminating the road in front of them. Clay squinted over his shoulder, but the high beams were too much—he couldn’t see the make of the car or who was in the driver’s seat.

_You’re being watched._

Clay had a fleeting moment to think about what the hell Hannah had set up before pedalling furiously. He careened down the street and over a grassy slope that led to a baseball park, effectively losing the car that was tailing him.

It wasn’t until he got to the location that he realized it was Hannah’s first house, the one where she had thrown a party that he had attended.

He came to a stop and surveyed the dark windows.

_“This is where I threw my first and only party, and where I met Justin Foley. The subject of our first tape.”_

Clay let out a breath that was a mix of startled and relieved. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t the first tape.

_Now his words from earlier today are starting to make a bit more sense._

He remembered that party. Very vividly, in fact. Kat had been both shocked and delighted to see him, and Hannah had beamed at him. Clay had felt good—no, not just good, great, as he always felt when he was around her. But then Bryce Walker had hit on her, and Hannah had looked at the jock with interest, and Clay’s heart plummeted.

It was always the jocks.

He had stood with the two girls on the porch as they watched Justin and Zach tussle in the sprinklers. Hannah’s eyes had been trained specifically on Justin, and Clay’s stomach joined his heart. He had followed Kat inside, leaving Hannah on the porch, and maybe that had been a mistake.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he quickly glanced at it. It was a call from his mother, and he rolled his eyes. He ignored the call, shoving it back into his pocket, and tuning back in into Hannah’s voice.

He had known Hannah and Justin had a fling. It wasn’t really a relationship—it hadn’t lasted very long. Once Justin sent the picture all over the school, that was the end of that. But he had thought it was real. That something had happened. Not just a kiss.

It had just been a kiss.

Clay moved from Hannah’s old house to the playground, which was the second location on the map. He sat on a bench, staring blankly at the slides, listening to Hannah recount the experience of her first kiss.

She had been so happy. And Justin had dismantled that in mere seconds.

Clay closed his eyes. He had received that picture. He had thought the same thing. That something more had happened between her and Justin. He’d been cold to her, and he’d hurt her feelings.

Headlights washed over him and Clay snapped his head around. Tony climbed out of his car and approached the fence. “Hey,” said Clay, bewildered.

“Hey,” greeted Tony, surveying him critically. “You doing okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.”

_How did he know I was here?_

“I see you borrowed my Walkman.”

There was no accusing tone to his voice but Clay still flinched. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I should have asked—”

“Don’t worry about it,” interrupted Tony. “Just be careful.”

“I won’t break it,” promised Clay, relieved that Tony wasn’t angry.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I meant be careful with yourself, Clay. You shouldn’t really listen and ride.”

Clay gave a wry smile. “Probably not.”

“Seems like you’re almost done the first side,” mused Tony, regarding the playground. “Take care, Clay.”

Clay’s jaw dropped. He could only stare mutely as Tony returned to his car, shooting Clay a thoughtful expression over his shoulder before climbing inside. He drove back down the road, the headlights disappearing, leaving Clay shrouded by darkness once again.

_Is Tony the one following me? Is he the one Hannah gave the tapes to?_

Clay shoved the Walkman into his pocket and rode back home, his list of questions to ask Hannah only growing. He put his bike in the shed and went to his room, where he crawled under his covers, and continued listening.

It hadn’t been Justin who sent out the picture. It had been Bryce. Clay had a distant memory of seeing Justin and Bryce playfully tussling over a phone the day after their first date. He received the picture in class. Hannah’s face had been horrified and distraught—and he hadn’t really registered it. He’d been so angry. So hurt. That was all he could think of.

_“A rumour based on a kiss ruined a memory that I hoped would be special. In fact, it ruined just about everything. You better stick around, Justin. You’re not out of the woods yet. I bet you, like the others, didn’t really know what you were doing. But don’t worry. You’ll soon find out.”_

The first side finished and Clay ripped out the headphones.

_What had he done?_

…

“Clay?”

The soft voice intruded upon Clay’s slumber, which he somehow managed to achieve despite the heavy thoughts that plagued him. He cracked his eyes open to see Hannah, and he bolted upright. “Hannah!”

She regarded the bandage on his forehead with wide eyes. “What happened to you?”

“I wasn’t paying attention. Ran into a car—or a car ran into me. It doesn’t matter. It was my fault.”

“What about your helmet?” said Hannah with a grin. “You know, the one you insisted on wearing, because you like your brains inside your head?”

“I guess I forgot about it,” muttered Clay. 

The humour left her and Hannah frowned. “That’s probably my fault. Sorry. There, uh, wasn’t really an easy way to break any of this to you. It’s been a day—or a night, I guess. That’s usually how long it took for the others to finish the first side.”

“Yeah, I finished it,” said Clay. Guilt crept its way into his heart like poison and he said, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did, about the waiting thing. I didn’t know—but that doesn’t really matter. I was a jerk.”

“You were,” said Hannah, but she gave a small smile. “But you knew were being a jerk when you said it. I forgave you.”

Clay swung his feet to hang over the edge of the bed and he glanced at the clock. It was seven in the morning. He’d have to start getting ready for school in about an hour. “Hannah—”

But the girl cut him off. “Do you remember the rules?”

Clay blinked. “Yeah. Listen to the tapes and pass them on.”

Hannah nodded. “We’re going to have add a third rule onto that. No questions about the tapes.”

“Are you serious?” asked Clay incredulously.

“The whole point of this was to make everyone listen, to what had happened, to what they had done to me,” explained Hannah. “If I just answer your questions, let you skip over the tapes, then it’s not what I had in mind.”

“You didn’t have being a ghost in mind either,” said Clay, trying and failing not to feel irritated.

“I didn’t,” said Hannah bitterly. “I didn’t know how this whole death thing worked. Now I’m stuck here.” She paused and regarded Clay closely. “You’re not freaked anymore.”

Clay ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just happy to have you back.”

“I suppose this is a positive,” said Hannah, lowering to perch next to him. “But it’s somehow…worse, in a way.”

“Why?”

“I can’t hug you.”

Clay reached over and set a hand on her knee. He didn’t care that it felt like his hand was being frozen solid. “Can you feel that?”

“I can,” she whispered. “It’s just warmth—no actual contact, obviously. But I can feel you. Thanks.”

Clay retracted his hand and rubbed at his fingers to try and get the numbness out. “So I can’t ask you questions?”

“No,” said Hannah strongly.

“Not even about the tapes I already listened to?”

Hannah hesitated. “Well…I guess we can compromise. As long as it’s not a question that’ll be addressed in an upcoming tape.”

Clay sorted through his thoughts, trying to find a question that she might be willing to answer. Clay swallowed before asking, “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me which number my tape is?”

“I can’t,” said Hannah, staring at his floor. “You’re going to have to wait and see. Like the others.”

“Like the others,” repeated Clay in annoyance. “Hannah, you said that everyone on this tape is the reason why you died. Do you know how that feels? To think I’m the reason you killed yourself?”

His voice cracked and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Please trust me. I know it would be so much easier if I told you. But—”

“That’s not supposed to be the point,” finished Clay, unable to keep the sour note from his tone. “Fine.”

He tried to take solace in the fact that she wouldn’t willingly hang around him if he’d been so horrible, done something so horrible to cause her to commit suicide. It was a hollow comfort. If he was the only one who could see and converse with her, well, it wasn’t a surprise why she wouldn’t choose to walk the streets in an eternal meaningless existence by herself.

“Does Tony know? Because he found me at the playground and knew I was finishing the first side.”

“Yeah,” said Hannah. “I had to give the tapes to someone I could trust. Someone who wasn’t on them. Someone who would follow my rules and make sure the others did the same.”

_Tony’s not on the tapes._

“Did he help you?” asked Clay hesitantly. “Do it?”

Hannah’s eyes went wide. “Oh my gosh, no! He didn’t even know I was doing it.”

Relief crashed down on Clay. He didn’t know if he’d be able to handle it if his best friend had something to do with Hannah’s death. It would have crushed him.

“Did you think he did?” asked Hannah in bewilderment.

“Hannah, you’re literally haunting me, and I have to listen to these tapes explaining why you killed yourself,” said Clay flatly. “I believe anything is possible.”

Hannah studied him for a moment, her eyes going worryingly dull. “I guess we will see about that. Any other questions?”

“Do you regret it? The kiss with Justin?”

“No,” answered Hannah honestly. “I meant what I said. It was wonderful.”

Clay tried not to let the jealousy show. “Do you think you’d still be together if he hadn’t shown Bryce the picture?”

“I don’t think so,” said Hannah slowly. “I think he would have still done something of that nature, somewhere down the line. He’s a nice guy, but still a jock. Jocks have this stupid mentality when it comes to girls. I thought he was different. I was wrong.”

Clay gave a humourless smile. “Should have stuck with Zach Dempsey, huh?”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “No comment.”

Clay looked at her questioningly, but she didn’t elaborate. “So…did you really copy his class schedule to stalk him?”

Hannah groaned. “Yeah. I did.”

“Wow.”

“Shut up.”

They fell into silence for a minute. Clay glanced at Hannah, who was staring around his room. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“If you want me to,” she said, returning her attention to him. “It’s nice having someone to talk to again. Don’t get me wrong, this won’t be easy. The material on these tapes is hard and terrible and they contain the worst moments of my life. But we can try.”

“We can try,” confirmed Clay.

For a moment, delirious happiness swelled within him. It was twisted, to be glad to be haunted by Hannah’s ghost. But all he ever wanted was one more conversation. And now they could have many more, and he had time to gather the courage to say the things he’s always wanted to say to her.

She was here. They were together again. And right now, that was all that mattered.


	4. Seek

Hannah waited in the hall while Clay got dressed. The chill wouldn’t leave him so he shrugged a hoodie over his shirt. He opened the bedroom door to let Hannah back in and a thought suddenly struck him. “Ghosts can’t see through walls, can they?” he asked nervously.

“Uh…no,” Hannah drawled. “They can walk through them, though.”

“Yeah, I saw that. And levitate things, apparently.” Clay sent her a curious glance. “How did you figure out you could do that?”

“When I realized I was still here, in this stupid town. I had a breakdown.” Hannah grimaced. “It wasn’t pretty. I ran from my house. I couldn’t stick around to see my parents. How they would react.” She blinked rapidly. “So I was on the street screaming and all these trash bins and recycling boxes just go flying. Kind of hard not to figure out it was me who was causing it.”

Clay leaned against the doorframe. “Do…do you know why you’re still here?” he asked carefully.

“Nope,” said Hannah shortly. “I was expecting to see the bright light, but all I did was step directly out of my body.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Clay!”

Hannah quickly stepped to the side as Lainie rushed upstairs, regarding her son with an angry expression. “You were supposed to let me know if you were going to be late!”

“I know!” said Clay quickly. “I’m sorry, Mom. Tony and I just got really caught up in our project. I didn’t realize where the time had gone. I saw you were sleeping on the couch when I came home, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

Lainie let out a slow breath, her anger receding. “You need to be more responsible, Clay.”

“I know,” he repeated.

“How’s your head doing? Is it hurting?”

Clay rolled his eyes. “No, Mom. It’s fine.”

“All right,” said Lainie, though she didn’t quite look convinced. “Come downstairs and eat some breakfast. We’re going to be eating together.”

Clay blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

“Okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”

She departed and Hannah sent Clay a curious glance. “Project?”

“She caught me with the tapes,” Clay muttered. “I had to explain them somehow.”

“Huh. That’s pretty creative.”

They went downstairs and Clay popped into the kitchen. He stared at the table, which contained a basket of French toast. His mother was scooping freshly cut fruit into a glass bowl and Clay could smell the eggs sizzling in the pan.

“What’s with all this?” he asked, taking a seat near his father.

“Well, it’s been too long since we all sat down together for a meal,” Lainie explained. “Since we’re all here in the mornings, I thought we could start having a family breakfast.”

“You’re going to do this everyday?” asked Clay in disbelief, gesturing at the spread of food.

“Not everyday, but it’s always good to start things off on a high note,” said Lainie, bringing the pan over and scooping some eggs onto Clay’s plate.

“That looks really good,” said Hannah wistfully. “Eat a piece of French toast for me.”

Clay obeyed, reaching over and plucking a piece of golden-brown toast from the basket. “Thanks, Mom.”

Lainie beamed at him. “You’re welcome. Now, tell me about the project.”

“Oh.” He ignored Hannah’s glance, which was half sympathetic and half amused. “It’s an oral history project. About students who came before us.”

Before he could try to elaborate further, Hannah muttered, “What’s that?”

Clay shifted his gaze to where she was looking and his heart stilled upon spotting the familiar looking prescription bottle. He slowly picked it up. “What’s this?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“I know it’s been a hard past few weeks,” said Lainie.

“Mom, I haven’t been taking these for like, two years. They’ve got to be expired.”

“I picked up a fresh prescription.”

Clay stared blankly at it before setting the bottle back on the table with a little more force than necessary. He ate the piece of French toast in three large bites before abandoning his eggs and grabbed his backpack. He swallowed his food before saying stiffly, “I better get going.”

“I made a lunch for you,” said Lainie. “It’s on the counter.”

Clay seized the paper bag and walked out of the house without another word. Hannah trailed after him. “They were just trying to help,” she said softly. “They’re worried about you.”

“I don’t need their help,” snapped Clay. “If I need more medication, I’ll tell them. I don’t want them buying it for me because they think I need it.”

“What…what’s it for?” asked Hannah. “Or is that too personal?”

“No. It’s fine.” Clay rolled his bike from out of the shed. “I have anxiety. Pretty bad anxiety, actually, but it’s gotten much better over the past couple years. And some depression. Mostly anxiety.”

“I know how both of those feel. They suck.” Hannah looked at Clay closely. “You’ll take them, right? If you start to feel like this is all too much?”

“You sound like my mom.”

“I take that as a compliment. Answer the question.”

Clay rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll take them if I feel overwhelmed.” He paused and asked carefully, “Did you ask for help? At all?”

“I’d rather not say,” muttered Hannah.

Clay deflated slightly, but knew it wasn’t his place to press. Not on this particular topic, anyway. “Are you coming to school with me?”

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go,” said Hannah with a sigh. “And to think what I wanted most of all was to get away from Liberty High.”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“Like I said, I don’t have anywhere else to go. It sucks, having to walk those halls when all I wanted to do was run away.” Hannah’s eyes went dark for a brief moment. “But it should be better. I can just follow you around.”

“You’ll have the most exciting day ever,” deadpanned Clay.

Hannah floated up to rest on top of his handlebars. “I do believe you owe me a ride.”

_I do. But this is not how I wanted to do it._

Clay swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

He clipped on his helmet and kicked off, pedalling down the street. Hannah wasn’t actually sitting on his bike, but she managed to match her floating with his pace. “Is it hard?” he asked. “Flying and stuff?”

“Not at all. It’s just like walking,” replied Hannah. “Except I can go in all directions.”

She hovered just above Clay’s hands, so while his fingers were cold, he didn’t experience the freezing sensation like he did when he touched her. It struck him suddenly why he was always so cold when she was around. It was another effect of her being a ghost.

Of not being alive.

He screwed his eyes shut. _Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._

They arrived at Liberty High, which Hannah regarded with deep disgust and hatred. Clay locked up his bike and they started up the front steps and through the doors. Clay pushed open one side while Hannah stepped through the other.

He approached his locker and switched out his books. He happened to glance over to his left and saw Tony standing there, watching him attentively. His hackles rising, Clay clenched his jaw and slammed the metal door shut. He turned on his heel and walked away.

“Aren’t you going to talk to him?”

“No,” said Clay shortly.

“I told you, he didn’t have—”

“I know,” interrupted Clay.

Hannah frowned at him. “He’s just doing what I told him to do.”

Clay didn’t say anything. That was what bothered him. That Tony was the one Hannah trusted to make sure her request was carried through to the end. That Tony wasn’t on the tapes, but somehow, he was. He wondered, briefly, if Tony would be willing to answer some of his questions, the ones Hannah refused to answer. Tony was his longest friend, after all, and surely no one else on the tapes had that distinction. But he would have to do it when Hannah wasn’t around.

Hannah noticed that Clay was not walking in the direction of homeroom, but towards the gym. Her tone took on an edge of suspicion. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to Justin.”

“Whoa. That is not a good idea.”

Clay looked at her, his brow raised. “You can’t tell me that whoever was before me didn’t seek out the other people who are on the tapes.”

“Did anyone come talk to you?” countered Hannah.

This caused Clay to pause. Besides the odd exchange with Justin yesterday, no, no one had come to confront him with whatever subject matter was on his tape. “Seriously?”

Hannah averted her eyes. “Well, I won’t say they haven’t been meeting,” she said, her bitterness undisguised. “But I still don’t think it’s a good idea. What exactly are you going to say to him?”

“I just want to know why he did what he did. If he feels sorry for it.”

_He does,_ thought Hannah. Perhaps not as sorry as she had hoped, but he had expressed regret, tears glinting in his eyes, and honestly that was more than she had been expecting. But those emotions had quickly left, replaced with anger and panic, and as the tapes moved on, the others joined together to ensure everyone kept quiet.

They didn’t care what they had done to her. Not really. They were more terrified of what would happen to them if the truth got out.

Clay was the only one with the intent to confront on her behalf.

They entered the gym, where the basketball team was running drills. Hannah noticed Sheri halt her warm-ups, her eyes zeroing on Clay with clear apprehension. It gave Hannah a thrill of satisfaction to see her so nervous.

“This is a closed practice,” said Coach Patrick, spotting Clay and moving to intercept him. “Out.”

Hannah bristled in annoyance. _You’re part of the problem._

“Sorry,” said Clay. “I was just looking for Justin. We’ve got a project that I wanted to talk about. Is he here?”

“No. He wasn’t here yesterday, either.” Coach Patrick eyed the boy closely. “Who are you?”

It was Clay’s turn to be annoyed. “I’m Clay Jensen. I’m in your fifth period history class.”

Recognition flashed across Coach Patrick’s face. “Right, right. You’re the quiet kid who always sits in the back corner.”

“That’s me.”

“Well, if you see Justin, tell him he’s going to be running drills until dark if he misses this pep rally, and any more practices, for that matter. Do you know if he’s in any trouble?”

“I don’t know,” said Clay honestly.

“Tell him I’m here if he needs me.”

“I will. Thanks, Coach. Sorry for the interruption.”

He left with Zach and Sheri’s eyes trailing after him. Once they stepped into the hall, Hannah said, “Wow. Could he make it any clearer that he doesn’t care about anyone except his precious athletes?”

“Probably not,” said Clay, relatively unbothered. “I wonder where he is.”

Hannah grimaced. Thankfully Justin had listened to most of his tape at his mother’s place. She didn’t dare follow him to Bryce’s.

After homeroom Clay shuffled to his first period class, digging his textbook out of his backpack while Hannah stood beside him. Jessica Davis stormed in not long before the bell rang, agitated and furious. Clay watched as she interrogated Zach, who was freshly showered from his practice, and Marcus, but neither knew where Justin was.

“Well. She’s freaking out,” said Hannah, not without sympathy.

Clay made a noise of acknowledgement. It was harder to talk in the classroom, where it would be much more obvious if he seemingly started talking to himself. It was easier in the hallways, where there were far more people and no one paid much attention to their surroundings.

The lesson got underway, and halfway through someone exclaimed, “It’s freezing in here!”

As the other students agreed and the teacher responded to their complaints, Clay made sure Hannah was looking at him before he jabbed his pen in her direction. It took a moment for Hannah to understand what he was trying to say. “It’s me?” she asked in surprise.

Clay nodded. Hannah rolled this new piece of information in her head, as she didn’t feel changes in temperature anymore, nor did she feel cold. She was simply there. “Huh. Cool.”

Clay could not help but grin.

Class ended and Clay shuffled out of the room and down the hall, Hannah trailing behind him. She did not care when people walked through her, and their shocked yelps suddenly made more sense. If she could lower the temperature of a room just by standing in there, she could only imagine what someone felt when they accidently moved through her transparent form.

“Clay!”

Clay and Hannah looked over as Sheri jogged up to Clay. Hannah’s eyes narrowed, but as she was behind Clay, he didn’t see it.

“What’s up, Sheri?” he asked curiously.

“I just wanted to know how you’ve been doing.”

Hannah held back a snort. _No, you don’t. You want to know if he’s started the tapes yet. How much he knows._

Clay shrugged. “Fine,” he lied. “You?”

“Could be better. Sorry about Coach Patrick,” she said with genuine irritation. “I so don’t understand the whole closed practice thing he insists on doing. What did he think you were going to do? Sneak their plays to the competition?”

“Better safe than sorry, I guess,” quipped Clay. “Have you seen Justin?”

Sheri shook her head. “No, not for a bit. Jessica is really freaking out. She’s his cheer escort for the pep rally today. She was so busy looking for him that she missed our run-through. This is the first event since she’s been on the squad, and she still needs some practice on her round-offs.”

There was genuine concern in her voice. Clay stared at her, bewildered. “Yeah. That’s…that’s unfortunate.”

Hannah muffled her laugh into her hand, turning it into a cough. Sheri seized her chance. “What did you want to talk to Justin about?”

For a split second, the silence weighed heavy and suspicious between them. Then Clay said, “Homework.”

They reached his locker and Clay swivelled the dial on his lock. Sheri seemed unconvinced and she set a hand against Clay’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hannah stared at the hand. So did Clay. After a brief moment of surprise at the physical contact he said, not entirely of his own accord, “I miss her.”

Sheri felt her guilt intensify as grief welled in his blue eyes. “Me too.”

“You were friends, weren’t you?”

Sheri hesitated. “Friendship can be complicated. But yes, we were.”

Whatever warm feelings Hannah had started to feel towards Sheri for her sincerity evaporated. Hannah glared at the girl, because as far as she was concerned, Sheri had a moral decision to make, and she failed, and isolated Hannah, who just wanted to do the right thing.

Fuelled, Hannah could admit, by deep regret that she already failed a moral decision herself that night, and did not want to make it two. But, she supposed, she had. So maybe she was just as angry at herself as she was at Sheri.

“Did Hannah ever tell you anything about me?” asked Clay impulsively.

“Time to go,” said Hannah sharply.

She started off down the corridor and, fearful he had made her mad, said hastily to Sheri, “Never mind. I got to go.”

He sprinted after Hannah and said, “Sorry, sorry. But it’s not like she knows about the tapes,” said Clay in slight annoyance. “I was just asking in general. There’s no rule against that.” A long pause ensued. “Wait. Is she on the tapes?”

Incredulity coloured his voice. Because of course it would be difficult to believe that Sheri, who had never gotten even a detention, would have done something to Hannah that warranted her being on the tapes.

“I’m not going to play the elimination game,” said Hannah.

Clay studied her, his eyes narrowed, but she kept her expression deliberately blank. “Fine,” he said, a mix of exasperation and grudging acceptance.

Hannah gave an internal sigh of relief. She was worried Sheri might spill something about the tapes. And if she told Clay that truly nothing horrible had been said about him, she was worried he wouldn’t find it necessary to continue listening. It seemed his primary goal was to figure out what he had done to end up on the tapes, however much it scared him.

But she needed him to listen all the way. Needed him to hear her story.

Because she knew what it would mean to him.


	5. Friendship

When lunch hour rolled around, Clay claimed a table to himself and dug the Walkman and his headphones from his backpack. He had switched out the earbuds for over-the-ear headphones, and he slipped them on. He glanced at Hannah, but she was staring resolutely around the cafeteria, observing the social interactions happening around them. There was nothing on her face to indicate what he was about to listen to.

He took a deep breath and pressed play.

Whatever name he was expecting, it wasn’t Jessica Davis. He had a recollection of the pair being friends. He’d seen them together in the hallways. And then he had stopped seeing them together, period.

But he hadn’t thought much of it. Friendships were fickle in high school, especially when it came to girls.

He’d only finished hearing Hannah reminisce over their first meeting in Mrs. Antilly’s office when a tray clattered in front of him. Clay scrambled to smack the pause button before properly looking at his visitor.

“You doing okay, Clay?” asked Tony carefully.

“I’m fine,” said Clay curtly.

“You sure?”

_No._

“What do you want, Tony?”

“I know this isn’t easy to deal with it—”

“That’s an understatement,” said Clay bluntly, and Hannah flinched.

“I just want to say I’m here for you,” said Tony, undeterred by Clay’s coldness.

“More like you’re watching me,” said Clay flatly. “How did you even know where I was going to be?”

“Let’s just say I’ve had some practice,” said Tony vaguely.

“Who came before me?” asked Clay, ignoring Hannah’s glare.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Of course not,” said Clay in annoyance. “I don’t need your help, Tony. And you don’t have to watch me. Trust me. I’ll follow the rules.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Tony softly.

“What are you worried about?” asked Clay suspiciously.

“How you’ll react.”

“He’s got a point,” muttered Hannah. “You already tried to confront Justin.”

“I’ll be fine,” Clay said, putting the headphones back in place. “And I’d rather do this alone.”

Tony gave him a sweeping, calculating glance before slowly standing, tray in hand. “You may not believe this, Clay, but I’m on your side.”

Clay didn’t respond. Tony walked away. “It _was_ an understatement,” said Clay, staring at the Walkman. “What he said.”

“I know.”

Clay sighed, frustration making tight knots in his chest from her lack of answers to what Clay perceived to be the most important questions he might ever have in his life.

He went back to Jessica’s tape.

Hannah described their ritual of meeting at Monet’s for hot chocolate, and how eventually they were joined by Alex Standall. He tried to picture Jessica, Alex and Hannah in Monet’s, where they had comforted Hannah after the picture had been sent around the school. Sadness swelled his gut when Hannah spoke about how, gradually, Alex and Jessica stopped their hot chocolate visits, how they had gotten together, and left her alone.

He knew what it felt like. To be alone, and to feel alone.

He didn’t—hadn’t—felt alone when with her. But then he would do or say something stupid, and fear she would leave him.

_“Wait, how did this conversation go so wrong, so fast?”_

_“It’s how your socialized. I keep thinking you’re some different kind of male. Clearly, there’s no such thing.”_

Clay flinched. She had taken his words the wrong way. She wasn’t as pretty as Jessica Davis. She was prettier. In her own way. And she was special. In a good way.

But he couldn’t elaborate his thoughts the way he wanted, and she had left him outside, staring at his Skittles. The rest of their shift that day had been awkward, to say the least.

He didn’t dwell too long on that memory, for his heartbeat started to pick up when Alex’s list was brought up. He remembered reading it, and agreeing with some of the list placements.

Maybe Hannah was right. Maybe he was just like every other male.

The tape finished and he slowly pulled off his headphones. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Hot chocolate, huh?”

Hannah gave a surprised laugh. “Yeah. We’d spend hours sitting across from each other at the table, just talking. But, like most good things, it came to an end.”

The smile dimmed and Clay’s heart wrenched. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Well. I did make a stupid comment. I didn’t really see why you would find the list offensive,” muttered Clay.

“Well, at least you were trying to be nice,” said Hannah. “Which was a rarity in my life.”

They entered the hall and Clay asked, in an attempt to lighten her mood, “So is Monet’s hot chocolate good?”

Hannah sent him a scandalized expression. “It’s amazing. Don’t tell me you’ve never had it.”

“I don’t really go there that often.”

Hannah shook her head in amusement. “You need to get out more, Clay.”

“Not too many places to go, in this town.”

“Fair point,” conceded Hannah. “But seriously. Monet’s hot chocolate. Give it a try.”

“How about after school?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Clay grinned. Hannah was about to return the smile when she noticed someone making rapid tracks for Clay over his shoulder. “Move to the right!” she shouted, and startled by the force in her voice, Clay complied.

Zach, who had intended to give the boy a hard shove, suddenly found himself with empty air. He went sprawling across the floor with a startled gasp. His friends burst into shocked laughter and Clay stared down at him, mystified.

He went to help him up but Hannah said frostily, “Don’t. He was trying to push you over.”

Clay followed after her, glancing over his shoulder at Zach. His cheeks were red with embarrassment and he sent Clay a scowl before hurrying up the stairs. “Thanks, Hannah.”

“No prob.”

“What’s his problem?”

_I can think of a few things,_ thought Hannah. “Don’t know.”

“Clay!”

Mr. Porter approached Clay from the other end of the hall. Clay came to a stop. “Yeah?” he asked hesitantly.

“When you have a moment, I’d like you to come by my office.”

“Why?”

“Just to talk about Hannah Baker,” said Mr. Porter. “You were friends, right?”

“Yeah. But…I don’t really know what I could tell you,” said Clay slowly.

Over Mr. Porter’s shoulder, Clay caught a glimpse of Jessica coming to an abrupt halt in the doorway at the end of the hall. She took one look at Mr. Porter and Clay, panic on her features, and quickly retreated. Clay frowned.

“—about your relationship,” spoke Mr. Porter, and Clay tuned back into the conversation. “What she told you, what you might have heard. I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

“Right,” said Clay. “Yeah. Do I have to come to your office now?”

“No,” said Mr. Porter, and relief swelled through Clay. “Whenever you have some free time, just stop by.”

“Okay.”

“All right.” Mr. Porter clapped Clay’s shoulder. “And remember, Clay, my door is always open.”

Hannah gave a derisive snort. Clay looked at her, the surprise obvious on his face, but Mr. Porter had already turned his back. “Nothing,” said Hannah, waving her hand.

Clay didn’t dwell too much on Hannah’s reaction—his brain was already focussing on where Jessica might have gone. He hurried after her, banging through the double doors and his eyes darting around. He spotted a few girls from his year clustered near one of their lockers, chatting, and he approached them.

“Have you seen Jessica Davis?” he asked.

They looked at him as if they’d never seen him before, even though he’d shared years of elementary, middle and high school classes with them. “Uh…that way,” said the dark-haired girl with blatant annoyance, pointing in the direction of the bathroom. “Rude much?”

“Thanks,” said Clay distractedly, ignoring the barb, and hurried down another hall, where he paused outside the bathroom door.

“Is she in there?”

“One sec.” Hannah stepped through the door and came back out just as quickly. “Yup.”

“Is she okay?”

“I think so.”

He only needed to wait, biting anxiously on his nail, for a minute. Jessica pointedly ignored him as she sauntered past and towards the stairwell. “Jessica,” said Clay softly, hurrying after her. “Jessica, does Mr. Porter know about the tapes?”

Jessica whirled around; her eyes wide with fear. “No! What did you tell him?”

“Nothing! He just wanted me to stop by his office, so we could talk about Hannah.”

“Yeah, because it’s his job,” said Jessica tightly. She huddled her jacket closer to her body and she snapped, “Why is it freaking freezing in here?”

“I saw him talking to Justin yesterday. Is…is he okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Jessica softly, her dark eyes flashing with worry and despair. “After they talked, he just walked out of school and apparently didn’t come back.”

“He hasn’t texted you?”

“No, and if he did, that’s not your business,” said Jessica sharply.

“Sorry,” said Clay. “I just…this is a lot. A lot to take in.”

His fists clenched at his sides as the grief, never burnt out, never fading, only rising and falling like a wave, surged. The pain on his face caused Jessica to soften slightly. “I know. But you have to be careful what you say and who you talk to. Just listen, okay? And don’t believe everything she says.”

Hannah gasped. Jessica turned on her heel, traversed down the final steps and disappeared out the door. Clay whirled around to see immense hurt on Hannah’s face. “What did she mean by that?” he asked urgently.

“You’ll have to find out,” said Hannah thickly, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe her. I can’t believe any of them!”

Her shout echoed off the walls. Clay approached her, setting his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll believe you, Hannah,” he said strongly. “You wouldn’t lie. Not about this.”

His warmth seeped through her transparent form. Hannah stopped shaking, and she gave a sincere, grateful smile. “Thank you, Clay. That really means a lot.”

“Of course.” Clay let go and tucked his ice-cold hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “Do you want me to talk to Mr. Porter?”

Hannah frowned. “Well, that’s up to you. I know you won’t talk about the tapes. I don’t know what Porter is thinking. It’s not like he’s going to get any information useful to him. And I’m already dead.”

Clay suddenly found it very difficult to swallow. “We, uh, better get going. Or I’m gonna be late.”

As they walked back out of the stairwell into a mostly empty hallway, Clay decided he wouldn’t go see Mr. Porter.

Hannah was right. She was already dead. And Clay had enough emotional pain to deal with—he didn’t need any extra from recounting the best memories of his life to someone who barely knew her, and was too late to help her.

…

Before he entered his class, he was handed a pink slip, which was an office summons. There he was informed he was on attendance alert. There was a sheet he had to hand to each of his teachers to mark for two weeks.

“I don’t understand,” said Clay in bewilderment. “I don’t miss a class.”

“Well, I guess this is just to make sure your attendance record stays as it is,” said the secretary.

“Is it your mother?” asked Hannah in surprise.

_Wouldn’t put it past her,_ thought Clay in annoyance.

He took his attendance sheet and left the office. “This sucks.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s going to be hard for you to keep up your attendance streak,” said Hannah.

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” said Clay with a shrug.

“It’s depressing, isn’t it?” asked Hannah. “High school.”

“Definitely. Did…did Jessica slap you because she thought you were also dating Alex?”

“Yeah.” Hannah looked at Clay, her expression one of betrayal. “I can’t believe she didn’t believe me. Just because he put me on his stupid list didn’t _mean_ anything. But to her it did. I guess it meant something to a lot of people. Just reinforced the rumour that I was a slut.”

“They’re wrong,” said Clay firmly.

“Doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Hannah frowned. “ _Didn’t_ make it hurt any less. I’m dead, but I’m still here. I don’t know which tense to use.”

“I don’t think it matters,” said Clay honestly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Hannah shook her head. “Well, you finished two tapes.”

“They weren’t really what I was expecting,” said Clay slowly. “I didn’t think—”

He hastily cut himself off but Hannah said knowingly, “You didn’t think their actions could have had such an impact on me. You and everyone else in this school.”

“I’m sorry—”

“You need to stop apologizing,” said Hannah with a sincere grin. “Or else I’ll probably be hearing it ten times a day.”

_But I appreciate it,_ thought Hannah. _You’re apologizing for what Jessica did. And the small things you said that you didn’t think were hurtful then, but now you acknowledge._

The last class of the day was cancelled for the pep rally. Clay sat at the very top of the bleachers, which were jam-packed, and managed to get into the corner. Hannah floated beside him with her face framed by the metal side barriers.

“You ever think about how pep rallies are really only designed to make a certain group of students peppy?” asked Hannah.

“The jocks, cheerleaders, and high school sports enthusiasts?”

“Exactly.”

Clay watched the cheerleaders perform their opening routine. “Do you think Justin is going to be here?”

“Probably not,” replied Hannah.

“Do you know where he is?”

“I have a good idea.”

“Where?”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Hannah, her eyes staring at the twisting and twirling cheerleaders. “He has to come back to school eventually. You can talk to him then, if you really feel like you need to.”

Bolan announced the winner of the Captain’s Award. Bryce Walker strode out, radiating smugness and arrogance, and Hannah’s hands clenched into fists.

“Of course.”

She said it with such spite, with such hatred, that Clay’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Whoa. What’s wrong?”

“Just jocks,” said Hannah coldly, watching Bryce swing the plaque above his head. “They’re the absolute worst.”

Considering the first jock she had gone out with had completely humiliated and degraded her character, Clay could see why she might form such an opinion. Though she didn’t speak about Justin with such venom.

He opened his mouth but Hannah already knew what he was going to say. “Don’t.”

Clay pressed his lips together and returned his attention to the court. Justin Foley’s name was announced, and Jessica performed her routine, but the teen did not appear. There was a murmur of confusion and Jessica was forced to stand in the middle of the gym alone for a beat before the next name was announced.

Jessica took off, her face scrunched up.

Clay started to stand and Hannah put a hand on his arm. The sensation caused him to still. “She’s not in a great mood.”

“I just want to ask her a few questions.”

Hannah eyed him suspiciously. “About?”

“Things,” said Clay stubbornly. “And I know you said I couldn’t ask you anything about the tapes, but you didn’t say I couldn’t ask other people.”

Hannah knew Clay had a point. She could not impose further rules on him. This was his journey through the tapes, and she knew she was already hindering it enough by just being there. “Fine,” she said shortly. “If you want to talk to her so badly, she’ll be at Monet’s.”

“How do you know?” asked Clay in surprise.

“She’s having a bad day,” said Hannah softly, and the sympathy rose, despite knowing that Jessica was trying to discredit her in Clay’s eyes. She knew what bad days felt like. “This is a hot chocolate kind of day.”

Clay nodded in understanding. “Well, that works out. I was going there anyway.”

The pep rally ended and the stream of students filed outside. Clay unlocked his bike and he just rolled it onto the sidewalk when a sleek blue convertible pulled up in front of him.

“Hey,” said Marcus.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Hannah incredulously.

“Hey,” said Clay cautiously.

“You want a ride?” asked Zach, who was at the wheel.

“I’ve got my bike,” said Clay, resisting the urge to shoot Hannah a confused glance. These were not people he talked with. Ever.

“You can just throw it in the trunk,” offered Zach.

Clay stared at him. “You tried to shove me earlier today.”

Marcus and Zach exchanged a swift glance. “Yeah, sorry about that,” said Zach with an easy smile. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Like hell you did,” said Hannah angrily.

“Zach will make it up to you,” said Marcus. “Come with us, to hang out at Bryce’s. Zach will make you a drink. Whatever you want.”

There was a familiar roar and Clay turned to see Tony driving up from the opposite direction, so that his bumper was inches away from Zach’s. Tony looked at Clay intently. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Clay, having zero grasp of the situation that was happening before him. “I guess?”

“Go with him,” said Hannah sharply. “Do not go with those two.”

_This is so weird._

“Uh, Tony, can I have a—”

“Yes,” said Tony immediately. “Throw your bike in my trunk.”

Clay could feel Zach and Marcus’ eyes boring into him. There was something crackling in the air—animosity, it felt like, and a tension so thick it would have to be cut with a knife. He put his bike in Tony’s trunk and climbed into the passenger seat. Hannah floated in the back.

Tony pulled away from the curb and started for the street. “That was…that was really weird,” said Clay.

“Don’t let them give you a ride,” said Tony seriously. “Don’t go anywhere with them alone. You hear me?”

“What is going on?” demanded Clay. “Why are they so interested in me all of a sudden?”

“They’re not your friends,” was all Tony said. “Okay?”

“I know that,” said Clay impatiently.

“Good.”

“Are they on the tapes?”

“You’ll just have to listen and see.”

“The lack of answers is really making me mad.”

“I know,” said Tony gently. “You just have to trust me. This is what Hannah wanted.”

Clay glanced in the rearview mirror, and Hannah looked at him apologetically. “Right.”

“Clay…how far are you in the tapes?”

“I finished Jessica’s at lunch,” said Clay stiffly.

Tony shook his head incredulously. “Everyone else finished them by this point.”

“I’m not everyone else,” snapped Clay. “It’s hard, okay? I don’t know what I’m going to hear next.”

“It’s supposed to be hard.”

“No one will answer my questions,” continued Clay. “It would be a lot easier if I just knew what was ahead of me. If I knew what tape I was.”

His voice broke and Hannah’s eyes went bright. “Do you remember, what you told me, in seventh grade? After I said my brothers and I could take care of the bullies who were harassing you?” asked Tony.

“Yes,” said Clay heavily. “I said sometimes a guy just has to handle things on his own.”

“Exactly.”

Clay sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Whatever. Listen, I was actually going to Monet’s. Would you mind dropping me off?”

“Sure thing, Clay.”

They appeared outside the café and Clay wrangled his bike out of the trunk. He gave Tony a nod as he departed, locked his bike on one of the light posts and went inside. He ordered a hot chocolate and approached Jessica, who he had glimpsed through the windows.

“Told you,” said Hannah.

Clay sat across from Jessica, who snapped her head up from her phone. “What do you want?” she asked nastily.

“Is the hot chocolate helping?”

Jessica stared at him, at the mug in his hands, and something in her expression softened. “No, it’s not.”

“I’m sorry Justin never showed up.”

“You shouldn’t be. It doesn’t affect you,” said Jessica flatly.

For a minute they sat in silence, sipping at the chocolatey liquid. “Was it the list? That caused you and Hannah to stop being friends?”

“It was more than that,” said Jessica. “You can’t believe anything she says, Clay. Not a thing. She lied to me and used me.”

“I didn’t,” said Hannah, so quietly that Clay almost didn’t hear her.

“Friendship is complicated,” said Clay, staring at his hands, where his fingers twitched nervously. “I think it’s probably even more complicated for girls. I spoke to Hannah, after the list was made. You can’t fake that kind of hurt. That kind of betrayal.”

“She’s a great actress on top of being a great liar,” said Jessica coldly.

Hannah made a distressed sound. “I know you were hurt, too,” said Clay softly. “But I don’t think it was Hannah who caused the hurt. Not really.”

Jessica stood up, her legs slamming into the table and making her hot chocolate wobble, sending droplets splattering over the surface. “Don’t talk about what you don’t know!” she shouted.

Clay looked at her. “And I think, if Hannah really was lying, you wouldn’t be this upset.”

Something spasmed across Jessica’s face, an emotion that passed by so quickly Clay couldn’t identify it. She grabbed her purse and stormed out without another word.

“Thank you,” said Hannah thickly.

“I’ll always believe you, Hannah,” said Clay, looking right at her. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Hannah took a phantom breath and settled in the seat Jessica just vacated. “Just be careful with what you say, all right? The others…aren’t going to be happy when they realize you don’t think I’m lying like they believe. Or want to believe.”

“Like Marcus and Zach?”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Don’t fish.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“How’s the hot chocolate?”

“Oh, it’s fine.”

Hannah was affronted. “Just fine?”

“I mean, it tastes exactly like most hot chocolates I’ve had,” said Clay with a shrug.

The mood between them, as it only could between the two of them specifically, shifted from gloomy to bright in a matter of seconds. They were good at closing off certain emotions, ignoring certain things, when the moment called for it.

It was just a survival tactic. It just wasn’t enough for Hannah, in the long run.

It was dark by the time Clay started for home. Hannah frowned when he took a detour. “Where are you going?”

“I want to go by your place for a second.”

“Why?”

“I never got the chance to see your new house, when you were alive,” said Clay quietly. It was a thought he couldn’t ignore.

“I’ll meet you at your place, then. I’m not ready to—”

“I know,” interjected Clay. “I’ll be home soon.”

Hannah nodded and took to the sky. Clay watched after her, the shock of seeing her fly still not completely worn off. He reoriented himself and went to the Baker household, which was shrouded in shadows.

For a moment, he saw Hannah sitting across from her window, staring blankly at him. But it wasn’t Hannah—it was his mental projection of Hannah, ones he would see just after Hannah died. He knew the difference, now. There was no frigid sensation when he saw the Hannah of his own imagination.

But reality struck him and it was Mrs. Baker staring directly at him. Clay hastily moved forwards, disappearing from her viewpoint. He came to a stop several feet away, his heart pounding in his chest.

_You look like such a creeper._

Mrs. Baker did not come running out to confront him. Taking a shaky breath, Clay started the ride home.

Only to encounter Tony on the way.

His friend’s convertible sailed past him, straight in the direction of Hannah’s house.


	6. Hurricane

“You saw Tony _where_?”

“At your house. Your mom let him in.” Clay sat on the edge of his bed, his knee bouncing with agitation and anxiety. “When I saw his car, I thought he was following me. But he blew straight past, in the direction of your house. I went after him.”

“Did he see you following him?”

“I don’t think so.”

Hannah stared at the floor; her brow pinched. “I definitely didn’t tell him to do that. I know he’s not telling her about the tapes, because she wouldn’t keep quiet about those. But I don’t understand…”

She trailed off. Clay bit down on his bottom lip. Tony knowing about the tapes and being in charge of their distribution was one thing. But for him to be in contact with Hannah’s parents…to have reached out to them…what was he telling them? Why was he talking to them in the first place?

“I guess he feels obligated,” muttered Hannah. “Because I left the tapes on his steps. And he didn’t get to them until it was too late.”

“You think he’s comforting them?”

“Maybe?”

“It’s pretty weird, to be visiting them so late at night,” said Clay with a frown.

Hannah raised her brow. “Not as weird as stopping to stare at it.”

Clay flushed. “I just wanted to see it.”

“In the dead of night.”

“All right,” said Clay grudgingly. “I guess it was a bit weird.”

“I get where you’re coming from, though. Can you ask him about it?”

“Sure,” said Clay, who had already decided to do so when he next saw Tony.

“So, where am I staying?” asked Hannah. “Your couch?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, that’s fine,” said Clay in surprise. “Do, uh, do ghosts need to sleep?”

“No, not really. But I can shut down, for lack of better words. The soul is still able to rest, I guess?” Hannah shrugged. “I just couldn’t really do it before, since I didn’t have a proper place to stay. It felt creepy sleeping on someone’s couch without their knowledge, so I didn’t do it.”

“Well, you can have my couch,” said Clay with a bow. “My mother makes me spray it with disinfectant and air freshener every week.”

Hannah grinned. “Though I am incapable of catching germs, that’s still good to know. I’ll leave so you can change.”

“I can just change in the closet,” said Clay, grabbing his pajamas. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t mind waiting in the hall.”

“I’m good.”

Hannah smiled fondly as Clay disappeared into his closet. “You’re one of a kind, Helmet,” she said softly.

…

In the days after Hannah’s death, student council set up a memorial table in the main hall. Stuffed animals and bouquets of flowers covered the surface and a picture of Hannah was taped to the wall. Clay had caught her staring at it as they walked by their first day together, but she didn’t say anything, so Clay took the cue and kept his mouth shut.

But as they went by the rose-laden table, Hannah said in annoyance. “I hate roses.”

“Really?” asked Clay. “I thought all girls liked roses.”

“Not me. They’re so cliché.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “Why is it always roses? Why can’t people think of something different?”

“What’s your favourite flower?”

“I like lilacs,” she said thoughtfully. “And daisies and carnations.”

Clay logged this piece of information in his brain. He slipped away from her during lunch, claiming he needed to use the bathroom, and spent ten minutes looking up local florist shops. He found one he could afford and ordered a bouquet of carnations that he would pick up tomorrow before school.

She deserved flowers on her memorial that she didn’t despise.

Clay didn’t dig out the Walkman and the next tape until he was back at home. His chest was tight as he loaded tape two into the player. The fear of hearing what would come next, of _who_ would come next, wasn’t fading.

He lay on his bed with Hannah sitting on the edge, watching him. Clay closed his eyes and pressed play.

_“You’ve heard of the butterfly effect, right? That if a butterfly flaps its wings at just the right time in just the right place it can cause a hurricane hundreds of miles away. It’s chaos theory. But, see, chaos theory isn’t exactly about chaos. It’s about how a tiny change in a big system can affect everything. Alex Standall, you were my butterfly. You caused my hurricane.”_

Clay was confused, at first. From Jessica’s tape, he knew they had stopped being friends. He knew Alex and Jessica had gotten together and left Hannah out, and then they had broken up, and Jessica thought it was Hannah’s fault.

But it was because of the list.

He remembered unfolding the list in communications class. He hadn’t been able to really process it before Mrs. Bradley called on him to answer her question and Sheri nicked the wrinkled piece of paper from his fingers.

The class had been giggling. Smirking. Sneering. Hannah had peered around in confusion, and when the list reached her fingers, she stormed across the room to shove it into the trash can.

Some guy had gone to immediately retrieve it.

Clay knew the list had bothered her. He didn’t understand why, at first. He thought it was a compliment. None of the other girls on the ‘best’ side seemed offended. But now, hearing what she had to endure in the halls, he felt horrible for thinking, even for a second, that she had overreacted.

That he hadn’t bothered to understand her point.

She had eaten lunch alone, that day, until he joined her. And completely failed to make her feel better.

Hannah had barged into the boy’s locker room, absolutely furious. When the coach had kicked her out, the jocks immediately heaped praise onto Alex. Justin had called Hannah crazy. Alex hadn’t defended her.

Had that been it? Had that been the moment where Alex decided friendship with the jocks was more important than his friendship with Hannah? Then his relationship with Jessica?

When the tape reached the point where he would have to travel to another location, he paused it. He wasn’t in the mood to go biking and he wasn’t in the mood to keep listening.

“You’re prettier than Jessica,” he said, staring at the ceiling as he removed his headphones. “You are. In your own way. Because you’re _you_. Not Jessica. Only Jessica can be pretty like Jessica. Am I making sense?”

“Yeah.”

“And…and I’m sorry for completely being unable to articulate that when you first asked.”

Hannah played with her fingers, the absolute sincerity in his voice causing her to blink rapidly. “Thank you, Clay. And seriously, _stop apologizing_.”

Clay sat up, adjusting his position against the pillows. “How did you find out it was Alex?”

“Wasn’t hard,” said Hannah with a wrinkled nose. “It was all the stupid school could talk about, and of course the creators were more than happy to take full credit.”

“I just…it doesn’t seem like the sort of thing Alex would do,” said Clay. He didn’t know Alex very well. But even though he hung out with the jocks, Alex had always been pleasant to him.

“Every person is capable of cruelty,” said Hannah dully, kicking at the floor and watching her foot sink through the carpet. “Alex is no exception.”

“But why did he do it?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. He wouldn’t talk to me, no matter how much I screamed at him. I gave up trying to get a reason out of him, especially after Jessica slapped me. It didn’t matter. We weren’t friends anymore. He made that pretty clear.”

“You said Alex was your hurricane. What did you mean?”

“That’s something you’ll find out tape by tape,” said Hannah with a grim smile.

“Right. Um, I don’t really want to go to the—”

“That’s fine,” said Hannah, reaching over to set her hand against his shoulder. “Don’t worry about what Tony says. You go at your own pace.”

“Okay.”

Clay started to shiver and Hannah retracted her hand. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay. Actually, I do have to grab an extra blanket from the closet downstairs. Thanks for reminding me.”

His joke caused her to smile. “No prob.”

Clay jogged downstairs, but before he retrieved the blanket, he went to his father’s study. “Dad?”

“Hey, buddy.” Matt turned around in his chair. “How was school?”

“Fine. I was wondering, could I borrow ten dollars?”

“Only ten?” asked Matt in amusement.

“I have some money saved up, from my allowance, but I just need ten more.”

“What’s it for?”

There was no point lying for this one—it was a small town and eventually word would reach his parents that he placed an order at the florist shop.

“I ordered some flowers. For…for Hannah’s memorial at school.”

This was not what Matt was expecting and his surprise quickly melted into understanding. “You worked with her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Clay.

“I think Hannah’s parents would really appreciate that.” Matt dug the bill from his wallet and handed it over. “You don’t have to worry about paying it back.”

“I want to,” said Clay firmly. “I…I want them to be from me.”

“You know you can always talk about her, whenever you want to,” said Matt gently. “I know you said you weren’t close—”

“I will,” said Clay quickly. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Clay.”

Clay shoved the money in his pocket and went to get the extra blanket. He paused at the bottom of the stairs when his father called, “By the way, has it felt colder in here to you?”

“No!” he shouted back, and frantically hurried upstairs to squirrel away the blanket they usually used during winter.

…

“Where are you going?” Hannah asked, bewildered as Clay biked into the middle of town the following morning. “It is so not a good idea to skip school.”

“I can’t skip school when school hasn’t even started yet. I’ve got lots of time.”

“Okay. Still doesn’t explain where you’re going.”

“You’ll see.”

Hannah didn’t pester, for she supposed Clay was entitled to be secretive after everything she was putting him through. Her eyes went wide when he stopped in front of a florist shop, bright floral arrangements showcased in the display window.

“Clay…”

“I’ll be back.”

He disappeared inside and returned a moment later with a dark purple vase filled with white, red and pink carnations. Hannah stared at them mutely. Clay shifted anxiously on his feet, unsure if her speechlessness was due to gratitude or dismay. “You said you hate roses, and you love carnations, so I thought—”

Hannah hugged him. Her arms went through his waist, but Clay didn’t care that it felt like he was being stabbed a thousand times over by icicles. He put an arm around her shoulders. “Thank you,” said Hannah, her voice hitching.

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad you like them.”

Hannah beamed at him as she stepped back. They got back on his bike and Clay rode one-handed, the other keeping a secure grip on the vase. They arrived at Liberty High and when they entered the courtyard it was to see the band setting up on the concrete steps.

“That’s different,” mused Hannah.

“So are these.”

Clay approached the wall. An intense picture, made out of chalk, showed blurred figures against a black background. The words _you are not alone_ were written below it. Hannah scoffed. “Oh. Yeah. Like those are going to be of any help.”

“Hey, Clay!” Marcus approached them and he raised an eyebrow at the flowers. “Who are those for?”

“It’s for Hannah’s memorial,” said Clay.

“Oh. Right, of course. They look great, man.”

“Thanks, Marcus.”

“Do you want to help put up posters?”

Hannah shook her head as Marcus held out a couple of rolled-up poster boards. “Of course you’d volunteer student council to do this.”

“Uh, no thanks, Marcus,” said Clay.

“Come on, show some school spirit.”

Hannah glared at Marcus. Annoyance flared within Clay. “I don’t think school spirit applies to putting up posters for suicide prevention.”

He barely managed to get the last two words out.

“You’re right, my bad,” soothed Marcus. “Poor choice of words. But you know what I mean. We all have to try to make a difference. Like the school band. We think it’ll be great for boosting morale.”

Clay watched as Alex pulled his instrument out of his case. He had a brief exchange with another band member before he angrily set his guitar back down and strode for one of the stone patio tables, running his hands through his hair.

“Good luck with the posters, Marcus,” said Clay, and he quickly went over to the teen. “Hey, Alex.”

“Clay. What’s with the flowers?”

“They’re for Hannah’s—”

“Memorial.” Alex closed his eyes. “That was such an asshole thing to say. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Um…I was hoping that maybe I could ask you a question? About your tape?”

“What?” asked Alex wearily.

“Why did you do it?”

Alex stared at him. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said finally.

“Of course it matters,” said Clay in surprise. “Hannah matters.”

“I didn’t say she didn’t matter,” snapped Alex.

“Then why did you do it?”

“Alex!” One of his bandmates called. “Come on!”

“I gotta practice,” muttered Alex. “And I guess to boost morale or whatever crap Marcus has been spewing.”

He shuffled off and Clay sighed. “Why won’t he tell me?”

“It’s hard for you to listen,” whispered Hannah. “And for Alex, it’s hard to admit why he did what he did.”

“Do you know why?”

“I have an idea.” Hannah crossed her arms over her chest. “But it’s just a guess. I never actually heard him say anything. But he did take his tape pretty hard. Be easy on him, okay?”

She said it pleadingly. Clay nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

They entered the school and, when they reached the hall with Hannah’s memorial, Hannah suddenly gasped and vanished. Clay found himself staring into the eyes of Mrs. Baker. Courtney stared at him, and at the flowers he held, and she looked away.

“Carnations,” said Mrs. Baker, her voice catching. “Those were her favourites.”

“Yeah,” said Clay, his tongue suddenly feeling fuzzy as his heart started to race. “There, uh, weren’t any on her memorial. Just lots of roses. And she—”

“Hated roses,” whispered Mrs. Baker. The immense sadness she had felt leaving Bolan’s office was pinpricked by warmth by this display of thoughtfulness and consideration. “She thought they were cliché. What’s your name?”

“Clay,” he muttered.

“You must have been close to Hannah, to know about the carnations.”

Clay could not lie, not when Hannah was somewhere in his vicinity (the goosebumps were still on his neck) and not when Mrs. Baker was regarding him with such hope. “Yeah. We, uh, worked together. At the Crestmont.” He set the vase gently on the table. “I have to get ready for class. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Baker.”

“Wait!” Mrs. Baker set a hand against his arm. “Would you mind coming over, someday? Just to talk?”

“Um…sure,” he said nervously. “But I’ve got lots of homework and stuff—”

“I’ll give you my number. And whenever you’re free, you can give me a call, and we can arrange something.”

There was a plea in her voice and desperation in her eyes. And Clay knew, that much like himself, Hannah spent a good portion of her high school days alone. There were no friends to show up at the Bakers’ doorstep with condolences. There were only superficial notes taped to a locker and a table piled with material objects by people who hadn’t given Hannah a second look.

“Sure,” he found himself saying.

Mrs. Baker beamed at him—Hannah had inherited her smile. “Thank you so much, Clay.”

Clay put her number in his phone and Mrs. Baker hugged him. It was unexpected and it took him a minute to recover, but he hugged her back.

“I look forward to talking with you, Clay,” said Mrs. Baker with a sniff.

When Mrs. Baker left, Courtney said softly, “That was really sweet, Clay.”

“Thanks,” muttered Clay, his cheeks red. “I gotta get to class.”

He hurried off and jumped when Hannah suddenly reappeared next to him. “How did you do that?”

“I can turn invisible,” she said. Her face was twisted with anguish.

“I’m sorry,” said Clay. “I don’t have to go over—”

“No. Please, go, when you’re able to. I think it might do her some good.”

Hannah didn’t understand how there could be a lump in her throat when she was dead. But maybe there was no scientific explanation behind it. She was nothing more than a soul now. And the soul, apparently, was where all the emotions were housed.

They entered the history classroom to see a television set situated at the front of the room. “Great,” said Clay with a sigh.

He sat down at his desk and Hannah moved over to stare out the window, her eyes glazed and despondent. Clay stared down at his hands. He didn’t know what to say to her. He certainly didn’t know what he was going to say to her mother. He didn’t want to speak with her. It was easier to talk with Hannah than it was to talk about Hannah.

The bell rang and Patrick entered the room, turning out the lights and putting in the DVD. He settled in his chair and promptly fell asleep when the opening credits to an old John Wayne scrolled.

“How did he even become the history teacher?” he said to himself.

Sheri, who was sitting next to him, overheard and grinned. “Probably in his contract or something. He can’t teach gym all day.”

“Much to his disappointment, I’m sure.”

Sheri laughed.

Clay smiled at her. He liked Sheri. He didn’t talk to her very often, but when he did, she was always nice to him. Like Alex.

The door clanged open and Clay instinctively swung his head towards the noise. As someone snuck into the room, Clay caught a glimpse of Alex as he walked by before the door clicked shut.

_Speaking of Alex…_

“Sheri, can you cover for me? If he wakes up?” Clay asked.

Intrigued, Sheri nodded. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Clay seized his bag and crept out of the room. He entered the hallway to see Alex ripping the suicide prevention posters off the wall. “Alex—”

“Go back to class, Clay,” said Alex, steadfastly tearing a piece of blue poster board down.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”

“I don’t care. Do they seriously think these are going to help anyone?” demanded Alex, waving the poster in Clay’s face. “No, they’re not. No one is looking at them.”

“He’s got a point.”

The only reason Clay didn’t jump was because he felt Hannah’s presence before she spoke. “Well, what should they say?” Clay asked.

The question was meant for both of them, but Alex answered first. “They should say ‘don’t be an asshole,’” said Alex flatly, shoving the poster into the trash.

“Well, it’s an improvement,” muttered Hannah.

“Is that why you wrote the list?” said Clay with a frown. “Just to be an asshole?”

Alex glared at him. He opened his mouth but it was another voice that cut over him. “What are you guys doing?”

“And look at what the cat dragged in,” said Hannah wearily. “He always shows up when he’s wanted the least.”

Clay shot her a puzzled glance as Tyler Down came down the stairs to join them. His eyes darted between them, almost suspiciously. “Well?” he pressed.

“Homework,” said Clay with a shrug.

“Right,” said Tyler sarcastically. “Because you have so much gym homework to talk about.”

Clay stared at him in bafflement. “How did you—?”

“Go away,” said Alex in annoyance.

Tyler’s shoulders hunched as bitterness filled his features. He turned on his heel and walked off. Alex shook his head before turning back to face Clay fully. “Do you think I wrote the list just because I wanted to be an asshole to her?”

Clay hesitated. “I just can’t picture you doing that. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would treat a girl that way.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Alex clenched his fists, pain flashing across his face. “And sometimes what you see is exactly what you get.”

Hannah closed her eyes. _And sometimes people don’t realize that until it’s too late._

“Hey! Where should you guys be right now?”

Alex shrugged as Porter approached them. “That’s a philosophical question, Mr. Porter. I don’t really know where I should be spiritually at this point in my life.”

Hannah snorted. “Nice.”

Porter surveyed them. “Why don’t you two come with me?”

Alex grimaced and shuffled towards him. Clay was quicker on his feet. “Sorry, but I have to run to the library and grab a movie for history class. Coach Patrick grabbed the wrong one by mistake.”

“All right,” said Porter. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Also nice,” approved Hannah. A rustling behind them caused them both to turn. “Geez! Where did he even come from?”

Ryan Shaver was rifling through the trash can. Clay watched him for a few seconds before saying, “Anything in there worth publishing?”

“Not unless you like ripe, overdone teenage angst,” replied Ryan, shoving a few crumpled pieces of paper into his pocket.

“Oh, whatever,” said Hannah with a scoff.

“I _am_ working on a special memorial issue for Hannah,” continued Ryan. He studied Clay intently. “Maybe you have something to contribute?”

“No, not really,” muttered Clay. “See you.” When he was out of Ryan’s earshot he said, “You don’t sound too happy with Tyler and Ryan.”

“They’re both creepers,” returned Hannah. “Always have been. Always will be. I mean, Tyler knew your class schedule by memory and Ryan is digging through garbage for material for his magazine. That’s messed up.”

“It is.”

“Back to history class?”

Though her eyes were still dull, she put on an upbeat voice, and Clay played along. “Ready for more John Wayne?”

“So not.”

…

The first chance Clay had to talk to Tony was during gym class. He stood at the back of the formation on the court, paying the volleyball only half of his attention. “Hey.”

“Hey,” returned Tony.

“I saw you last night, while I was out riding. What were you doing?”

“Had to go to the store.”

Clay stared at him disbelievingly. “You went to the store that’s all the way across town from where you live?”

“You’ve got the best shops,” retorted Tony. “In your nice upper middle-class neighbourhood.”

“I don’t see what shopping has to do with stopping by Hannah’s house.”

“Leave it, Clay.”

And in that instant Clay knew he had been right. It wasn’t so simple as Tony offering comfort to the Bakers in their grief. It was something more, and whatever it was, Tony was refusing to say.

Clay weighed his options and decided to move onto a matter with which Tony might be more forthcoming. “Angie Romero was your cousin, right?”

“Distant cousin, yeah. Why?” asked Tony, surprised and grateful by Clay’s quick switch of topics.

“Did she leave Liberty High because of the list?”

The volleyball flew out of bounds and Tony snagged it. “No. Why do you ask?”

“Well, she just…left. After that year.”

“Her father moved her to an all-girls Catholic school.” Tony served the ball. “He thought she wasn’t behaving as properly as she should.”

Clay furrowed his brow. He remembered Angie’s delight after the list had deemed her Best Lips. Jeff had complimented her on it and Angie hadn’t taken offense.

“Why…why would she be okay with the list and not Hannah?”

It was a question he didn’t dare to ask her.

“Every person is different, Clay,” said Tony firmly. “And Hannah got hurt. It happens. You just don’t know how something will hit. You don’t know someone else’s life.”

Clay regarded him. “Yeah. Clearly not.”

_“Heads up!”_

The volleyball, which was on course to collide with Clay’s head, suddenly veered by an inch to drop harmlessly on the court. He looked over at Hannah, who was sitting on the bleachers, and she flashed him a thumbs-up.

“I got your back!”

He grinned at her.

Tony blinked. “What’re you smiling at?”

“Nothing.” Clay quickly arranged his face. “Just…just happy I didn’t get beamed in the head.”

Gym class ended and they filed into the change room. Tony and Clay’s lockers were at either side of the room and Alex approached Clay with Tony looking at their reflection in the mirror. “What were you talking to Tony about?”

“Not much,” said Clay.

“Look, Mr. Porter is going around asking questions. Don’t tell him anything and stop talking to Tony about all of this.”

“He’s my friend.”

Even with their secrets, that much Clay believed.

“He’s not,” said Alex sourly. “Meet me after school. At Monet’s.”

“Hey, Alex!” called Zach, shrugging on his shirt. “We’re going out for lunch. I’m driving. You coming?”

“Yeah,” said Alex, his tone lacking enthusiasm. “Sure.”

Zach nodded, cast a lingering glance at Clay before leaving. Clay watched after him, flashing back to when Hannah had stormed into the boys’ locker room to scream at Alex, and the praise the boy received afterwards.

“For the record, I don’t think _they_ were worth it,” said Clay shortly.

Alex looked as if Clay had just punched him in the stomach—the air seemed to have left him. Clay turned his back to continue getting dressed and Alex walked over to sit on the bench, where he stared numbly at the metal locker bank.

Clay slammed his door shut and left without a backwards glance.

…

“Why does Alex want to talk to you?” asked Hannah as Clay biked down the sidewalk towards Monet’s.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t trust Tony, that’s for sure.”

“Probably because he’s not on the tapes.”

Alex wasn’t there yet when Clay arrived, so he started for the counter. “So hot chocolate is out,” said Hannah with mock-disappointment.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” said Clay in exasperation.

“I know how you feel,” she said with a dramatic sniff. “What are you going to get instead?”

“I was thinking coffee.”

“Uh, I don’t think coffee is good for anxiety,” drawled Hannah.

“You’re right,” admitted Clay.

“They’ve got a great iced-tea lemonade. Try that. You clearly don’t have a problem with sugar.”

Knowing she was referring to his love of Tootsie Rolls, Clay smiled. “You know, if they had a Tootsie Roll hot chocolate, _that_ would be something special.”

“Ugh, gag me.”

To Clay’s surprise, Skye was working behind the counter, wiping down the machines. “Hey, Skye. You work here?”

“You drink coffee?” returned Skye.

“No, I was gonna get one of the iced-tea lemonades,” muttered Clay. “Caffeine isn’t great for my anxiety.”

“Good call.”

As Skye prepared his drink, Clay’s eyes fell on the tattoos covering her arms and neck. “Is that a lizard on your neck?”

“Alligator.”

“Oh. Cool.”

There was no judgement in his tone and Skye peered at him from under her lashes. “Do you remember the story I told you? About what my parents would say when we went over a bridge?”

“Kind of.”

“I was terrified of going across bridges when I was little. To distract me—”

“Your mom would tell you to look for a purple alligator in the water,” finished Clay. “You were so caught up in looking for it that you forgot to be scared.”

Skye slid a plastic cup full of ice and dark brown liquid across the counter. “You do remember.”

“Yeah. I always thought it was a pretty sweet story,” mumbled Clay.

He started for his wallet but Skye waved it away. “It’s on the house.”

“Thanks, Skye.”

He went to sit at a table in the corner and Hannah glanced at Skye, whose eyes followed after the boy.

_Of course she likes him. She should like him._

Hannah squashed the rising jealousy. It was irrational. She was dead. And Clay would have to move on eventually.

So would she, in a more spiritual sense. She just didn’t know how to do it.

Alex arrived a few minutes later. He ordered his drink and carried it over to where Clay was sitting. The boy stared at the giant cup. “That’s a lot of espressos.”

“Probably too many,” muttered Alex, taking a sip. “You don’t drink coffee?”

“No. I’ve got anxiety. Probably a bad idea to start.”

“It is,” said Alex, rubbing at his forehead. In a quieter voice, he said, “Do you really think I helped make that list just to get in with the jocks?”

“I think that was part of it,” said Clay, twisting the plastic cup between his hands. “You hung out with them before that, but you weren’t really, you know, _part_ of them. Not until that list.”

“Damn,” said Alex bitterly. “Didn’t know you were a psychologist.”

“Am I wrong?”

A minute of silence. “No. Not entirely.”

“So why?”

“I wanted to make Jessica mad,” whispered Alex. “I loved her. She wouldn’t have sex with me. I wanted to. And the guys thought we were. When she rejected me, it made me…stupidly angry. So I intentionally put Hannah as Best and Jessica as Worst. But instead of making her mad at me, it made her mad at Hannah.”

“Do you think Hannah was right?” asked Clay softly. “Does all of this trace back to your list?”

“I think it really traces back to Jessica’s party, but what do I know?” said Alex heavily.

_Jessica’s party._

He and Hannah making out. She pushed him away—

Clay leaned forwards and said with such intensity it made Alex recoil, “What does she say about Jessica’s party? Does she mention me?”

Hannah turned away. Clay didn’t notice.

Alex blinked. “Clay. Where are you on the tapes?”

“I’m almost done yours.”

“Are you serious? I finished them twice in one night.”

“I can’t do that,” muttered Clay, his chest now feeling like it was about to cave in. “I have to listen to it in parts. And…and I’m scared to listen to my own tape.”

Alex shrugged. “You should be.”

Clay took a shaky breath. _Move on. Don’t think about it._ “Who started the list, anyway?”

“Bryce. The guys were working on it at lunch…and I guess I sensed an opportunity and I took it,” said Alex, his face twisting with regret. “I wished I never touched that stupid list.”

“Why are friends with them, anyway?”

“I am _not_ friends with Bryce,” said Alex sharply. “The guys just rarely hang out without him, so I have to deal with it. But Zach and I get along pretty well. Justin is always with him, too, so you know. It also wasn’t horrible to be liked by Justin Foley last year.”

“Okay. So why are you still friends with him?”

“It would be weird if I just stopped hanging out with them. They would know something is up. I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now.”

Clay stared at him. “Justin let people believe he and Hannah had sex in public.”

“And I let everyone believe Hannah put out for me too, and that caused her to lose her best friend,” snapped Alex. “I’m not blameless or guiltless, Clay, and I’m not better than Justin Foley. If Hannah still had someone to talk to, maybe she’d still be here!”

_She had me. She could have talked to me._

“Alex, it’s okay—”

“It’s not!” said Alex, his breathing growing uneven. “I want to be off the hook, I want to believe I’m not the reason she killed herself, but that’s not freaking true, is it? I killed Hannah Baker. So did Justin. So did Jessica. And so did you! We all killed Hannah Baker!”

His voice rose to a shout and everyone turned to look at them. Clay winced and said, “I think you might need some tea.”

“Oh, right, because I’m drawing attention?” said Alex with a derisive scoff. “Well, they should have been paying attention before. We all should have.”

He seized his bag and stormed out of the café. Clay pressed his hands against his eyes.

“You okay?”

Clay peeked through his fingers as Hannah settled in the seat Alex just left. “No.”

Hannah bit her lip. She knew what Clay was thinking about—Jessica’s party. But it was the subject of a future tape so any conversations about it until Clay heard it was off-limits. “I know Alex was upset when he listened to his tape, but I didn’t know he felt so strongly about it.”

“Because he didn’t intend for any of this to happen,” said Clay wearily.

“I know,” whispered Hannah.

A heavy silence ensued, where Clay sipped tiredly at his drink. After a while Hannah asked, “Did you tell him you thought he did the list just to get in with the jocks?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“After you came into our locker room, they started saying things to Alex. Bryce and Zach thought you were sleeping together. Justin told Alex to be careful, because you were crazy.”

Hannah’s smile was bitter. “Of course.”

“I’m gonna finish Alex’s tape,” said Clay, abandoning his drink and standing up.

“You sure you’re up for it?”

“I’m never up for it, Hannah.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Clay managed a smile. “It’s okay.”

The bell above the door chimed and Hannah took one look before vanishing. Clay’s eyes went wide at the sight of Mrs. Baker and Tony together and he hastily grabbed his backpack. He hurried across the café and vanished out the door before they could notice him.

“Did Tony tell you anything?” asked Hannah, turning visible when they were a good distance away from Monet’s.

“Nope,” said Clay, digging out the Walkman and slipping the headphones over his ears.

“Weird,” said Hannah, now a bit more troubled by this development. “Actually, if it’s okay with you, I’m gonna stay behind and eavesdrop.”

“Sure,” said Clay with a nod. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Of course.”

Clay held the map in one hand and pedalled off, following the route to the location marked E-3.

It took him ten minutes to reach the spot. It was a convenience store in the same neighbourhood as Hannah’s first house. He set his bike against the chain-link fence and listened to it.

Bryce had sexually abused her in that store. Bought her chocolate for her, and when they had been at the counter, he grabbed her ass and squeezed. And when Hannah, shocked and violented, began to protest, Bryce had cut over her.

_“I don’t usually listen to sophomore gossip, but, um, for what it’s worth, that list got it right.”_

That’s what Bryce had said to her.

Clay had just barely managed to finish Alex’s tapes before he ripped the headphones off, feeling sick to his stomach.

The goosebumps on his arms rose.

He looked up at her, his face distraught, and he said, “I wish I was strong enough to fight him.”

“I don’t want you to fight him.” Hannah looked at the Blue Spot, her eyes downcast. “I never came back here, after that.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Who would believe me? The girl already declared to be a slut against the crown jewel of Liberty High? Yeah right.”

Clay swallowed. It was getting hard to breathe. “I would have believed you.”

“I know,” said Hannah softly. “But I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t think there was a point. I just tried not to think about it.”

_And then that didn’t work anymore_ went unspoken but silently acknowledged by both of them.

Clay got to his feet, shoving the Walkman into his bag. “I was…I was gonna head inside, but—”

“Let’s go.”

A sudden, fiery determination filled her blue eyes and she clenched her fists. Her posture was ramrod straight as she stepped through the brick wall of the convenience store. In his whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, Clay very nearly followed her, before remembering he was not a ghost.

He stumbled through the door and gave a nod to the heavyset, bearded man behind the counter. Hannah was in the candy aisle, staring at the chocolate bars. “Is that Wally?” asked Clay softly.

“No,” said Hannah with a laugh. “Wally is a senior—as in old.”

“Oh.” Clay studied the brands. “Which one is your favourite?”

“This one.” Hannah pointed to a shiny purple bar and gave a wistful sigh. “I don’t have cravings anymore, but that really looks good.”

The door chimed as someone walked in and they both stilled at catching Bryce Walker’s head looming above the low shelves. “Just my luck,” said Hannah tightly.

“We can leave,” said Clay quickly.

“No.” Hannah shook her head. “He’s not chasing us out.”

She wasn’t going to run. Not anymore. The tapes would reach him eventually and she was going to watch Bryce as he listened.

She deserved to witness his reaction.

“Yo, Jensen!”

Clay whirled around. “Hey, Bryce,” he said, trying to sound neutral.

“You live around here?” he asked.

“Uh, no. A friend told me about it.”

“Oh, yeah, me too. It’s an easy card.” Bryce knocked his knuckles against the fridge door that stored the alcohol. “Hard day? Come for a drink?”

“It’s been a rough one, yeah, but I was actually just going for chocolate.”

“Chocolate isn’t going to do anything for you, man,” laughed Bryce. “Come here.”

Clay reluctantly went to stand by Bryce as the jock opened up the door. He surveyed the contents critically for a moment before pulling out a wide glass bottle filled with yellowish liquid. “There you go. Malt liquor.”

“I don’t have I.D.”

“Not that it would matter, since you’re only seventeen,” said Hannah.

Bryce shrugged. “Then I guess you better try to stand real tall.”

His eyes bored into the brown-haired teen. Clay gave a tight-lipped smile and a nod. “Right.”

He wandered up to the counter, where the cashier sent him a scowl. “I.D.?”

Clay made a show of patting his pockets. “Darn. Must have forgot it at my _high school_. Sorry.”

He went to turn but Bryce clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “I got his, man.”

Clay warily eyed the other bottles Bryce added to the counter. He flashed a fake I.D. and the cashier nodded before sticking Bryce’s purchases in one paper bag. As Bryce left, he stuck the bottle of malt liquor in another one.

“Was there a trash can outside?” Clay muttered as they started for the door.

“Oh, definitely. In the alley.”

But when they stepped into the dirt alley, it was to see a black Jeep with Alex, Justin, Bryce, Zach and Montgomery de la Cruz standing in front of it. They promptly burst into cheers when he appeared. “All right, Jensen!” called Justin.

“I can’t outrun all of them,” hissed Clay.

“Damn,” said Hannah nervously. “ _Damn.”_

“Get over here!” shouted Bryce.

Clay shuffled his way over to them. “Can’t you use ghost magic?” he asked, trying to move his lips as little as possible.

“It’s not magic and I definitely do not want any of them to know that I’m here.”

“You’re gonna have a drink with us, buddy,” said Justin, wrapping an arm around Clay’s shoulder when he got near. “You’re going against Alex.”

“You know, I really should get home,” said Clay.

“Why?” asked Monty tauntingly. “Is your mommy waiting for you?”

“Yes.”

The deadpan response caused Bryce to bark with laughter. “You’re a weird kid, Jensen.”

“Brycey bought you a drink. The least you can do is drink with us.” Justin’s fingers dug into Clay’s neck. “Right?”

It was said with enough friendliness, but Clay knew he did not have a choice in the matter. He could not take on all of them. “Fine,” he said warily. “One drink. But if I throw up on your five hundred-dollar shoes, you can’t get mad.”

“All right!” whooped Justin. “Alex, you’re up!”

“Freak versus geek,” said Bryce delightedly. “Time trial, forty ounces.”

“Don’t you have a concert tonight?” asked Clay.

“I did, but I quit band,” said Alex with a shrug. “So, you know. Doesn’t matter.”

The sound of an engine revving caused them all to look over their shoulder. Tony’s red car sat across the street. The teen stared out the window at them, the afternoon sunlight flashing across his dark sunglasses.

“Better hurry, your boyfriend is waiting,” said Bryce with a smirk.

“The record is eighteen seconds,” said Zach and Bryce raised a victorious fist.

Clay blinked. “Wait. To drink all of it?”

“Yes, you idiot, all of it,” laughed Justin.

“Here we go!” crowed Bryce.

As he began a countdown, Clay cast a frantic glance at both Hannah and Tony. Hannah gave a desperate shrug and Tony just leaned against his car, watching.

“Go!”

_Screw it._

Clay yanked off the lid and swung his head back. He chugged it for a few seconds and gasped for breath before continuing to drink. The alcohol burned his throat and his taste buds screamed in protest. The jocks cheered them on and erupted when Clay won.

“Attaboy Jensen!” said Bryce, lightly punching the boy’s shoulder.

Clay waved his hand and trudged down the alley. He slammed the glass bottle into the dumpster and made tracks for Tony. “Car!” warned Hannah. Clay froze as the vehicle flew past. “Okay, you’re good.”

“What the hell, Tony?” demanded Clay when he was close enough. “Some help would have been nice.”

“It looked like you were having a good time,” said Tony coldly.

“Oh, right, because I went into that completely of my own accord,” snapped Clay. “If you’re going to follow me but not do anything, then what’s the point?”

“I’m not following you,” said Tony impatiently. “What were you doing with Alex, anyway? You’re on his tape.”

“What were you doing with Mrs. Baker?” retorted Clay.

Frustrated, Tony shook his head. “If you’re not going to trust me, I can’t help you.”

“Tony…” But Tony climbed into his car and started the engine. Clay gave the top a hard, angry smack. “I thought you said you were going to be here for me!”

The car tore away, leaving Clay in the dust.

Clay ran to get his bike. “Whoa!” cried Hannah. “You should not be riding that right now.”

“Please don’t let me get hit by a car,” said Clay, and he started off.

Hannah was amazed by Clay’s speed, given that his face was a pale green and it looked like he couldn’t see clearly. There were thankfully no cars on the road and she grew confused when they entered an area reserved for warehouses.

“What the heck?”

Tony’s car squealed to a stop by the warehouse. He climbed out and jogged to another part of the building. When Clay got inside the complex there was another green car and when he approached the fence, it was to see Tony and his brothers beating up a man.

He was horrified.

“I think…I think it’s time you went home,” whispered Hannah, her expression stricken.

“Do you know—?”

“Whatever Tony is doing right now has nothing to do with me.”

It was dark by the time Clay got home. There was no lying to his parents about being drunk—he looked and felt awful. It didn’t help that he puked all over the dinner table, food and all.

His father helped him upstairs to his room. His mother brought in a glass of water and a banana. Clay drained the glass and ate the banana in slow nibbles.

“They are such jerks,” said Hannah.

The drop in temperature she brought whenever she entered a room soothed the growing ache in Clay’s head. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“Don’t be. I get it. Tony doesn’t really have an excuse.”

“Well, he was outnumbered.”

“Right. Apparently, he only gets into fights if its his victim who’s outnumbered,” said Clay bitterly.

“I know what we saw looked…really bad, but don’t go jumping to conclusions,” said Hannah softly.

“Too late.”

“You were a champ. With the alcohol. You crushed Alex. But I wouldn’t recommend doing it again.”

“I am not touching beer ever again,” said Clay with a groan. “Did you find out what Tony and your mother was talking about?”

“Oh, yeah. Somehow she found the hot list.” Hannah wrinkled her nose. “I thought I had gotten rid of it. She was just asking him questions about the names and who had done it. Tony said he didn’t know.”

“Still doesn’t explain why she reached out to him in the first place.”

“No, it doesn’t. But don’t worry about it. Honestly, Tony is the last person I’m worried about. He didn’t lure you into a back alley and force you to drink.”

Clay’s stomach was twisting dangerously so he threw the remainder of his banana into his trash. He took out the Walkman and Hannah eyed it with a frown. “I don’t really think now is the time.”

“I’m not sleeping tonight,” muttered Clay. “So I might as well.”

“Don’t push yourself.”

“I won’t.”

It was a lie.

He slipped on the headphones, put the map into his pocket, and snuck out the window with Hannah right behind him.

_“Shh. For this next one, you need to be very, very quiet. Because you’re about to do something very wrong. Be careful. And don’t get caught.”_


	7. Halloween

The climb across the roof went smoothly enough. But Clay lost his grip as he tried scaling down the side of his house. Hannah hastily threw up her hand and Clay found himself levitating in the air, his feet an inch above the ground.

“I’m flying,” he said in shock.

Hannah grinned. “Sort of.”

She put him down and Clay brushed his hands against his jeans. He grabbed his bike, looked at the map to see where his destination was and pedalled off with Hannah floating behind him and her voice flowing through his headphones.

The suburban houses were decked out with Halloween decorations in preparation for the upcoming night. Hannah studied the corny, inflatable ghosts and traditional pumpkins sitting on porch steps. She felt a pang as she thought of her childhood days trick-or-treating, of the simpler days of innocence and naivety.

The little six-year-old who dressed up as a vampire princess and skipped from house to house had no idea that her life would become too much to bear a mere decade later.

“Oof!”

Hannah whipped her head around as a car alarm started to blare. Clay lay on the cement, dazed, with his bike lying on top of him. “What happened?” Hannah asked in bewilderment.

“I was looking at the map and wasn’t paying attention,” said Clay, frantically getting to his feet and seizing the handlebars. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I wasn’t paying attention either.”

Clay sprinted across the street and stopped in front of the house that was marked A-4 on the map. He leaned his trusty bicycle against a tree and hit the pause button on the Walkman. Shoving the map into his pocket, he regarded the house warily.

“I have to trespass on their property?”

“Yup.”

“That’s illegal.”

“Sure is.”

“It’s _creepy._ ”

Hannah shrugged. “That’s kind of the point. You’ll understand as the tape goes on.”

Clay sighed and resumed the tape. He hesitantly stepped onto the front lawn and wound his way to the other side of the house. He found himself standing in front of a large window, the blinds parted.

_“Any guesses yet? No? Well, stay tuned to hear about the skeletons he dug up. For now…let’s see if he’s got any of his own. I get that it’s a thrill, looking into someone’s life. My heart’s pounding right now. Can you hear it?”_

And Hannah’s heartbeat exploded into his ears, steady and sure. Clay felt his breath catch in his throat as his own heartrate picked up.

The ghostly figure standing beside him, watching him carefully, no longer had a heartbeat.

Clay yanked off his headphones and Hannah could distantly make out the sound of her own pounding heart before Clay abruptly stopped it. “I’m guessing your heart is beating pretty fast right now.”

Clay glared at her. “Something like that.”

Hannah winced. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

Clay ran his fingers through his hair and tried to steady his breathing. But the night didn’t seem to want to give him any breaks and a hand closing on his arm nearly caused his heart to jump into his throat. He whirled to see Marcus frantically shushing him.

“What the hell, man?” Clay said, more bewildered than angry as he allowed Marcus’ hand to urge him into a crouching position. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard the car alarm go off. I live a few houses down. Came outside and saw you busting ass to get here.”

Clay stared blankly at the get-up Marcus was wearing, particularly the sombrero that had ping-pong balls dangling from strings. “What are you wearing?”

Marcus reached up to turn on the LED lights he had installed in his hat. Blue flashes were timed perfectly with thunderstorm noises. “I’m El Nino. You know, for Halloween. Or more importantly the costume contest tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if that’s creative or in poor taste,” said Hannah with a wrinkled nose.

“Why did you come after me?” asked Clay.

“Figured you were here to take your shot.”

Marcus pointed. In the window were several massive cracks, spidering in all directions. Clay was certain one more break would cause the window to shatter completely. Clay studied it for a moment, his brow furrowed. “My shot?”

“Yeah. We’ve all done it. Don’t feel bad about it, either. It’s definitely deserved.”

“Wait, wait—are you telling me you’re on the tapes?” demanded Clay. Marcus gave a short nod. “Why?”

“Didn’t bother to find out. I checked each tape to see who it belonged to, found mine, and then immediately skipped to the next one to see who I had to pass it on to. Didn’t listen to any of them fully.”

Clay frowned. “But aren’t you worried about the second set of tapes?”

“Hannah’s dead. What can she do?” Even in the darkness Marcus could see Clay’s horrified, stricken face at his bluntness. “I know it’s hard to hear but it’s the truth. What’s on these tapes? Happens to thousands of girls across this country. She did these tapes because she wanted attention. Dedicating a tape to each person, explaining in detail why it’s their fault she killed herself? That’s screwed up. None of us deserves this.”

A light flashed on and they ducked lower to the ground to avoid being illuminated. Tyler Down stood framed in the broken glass. Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “You know what, I lied. _He_ deserves it, the freak.” He grabbed a nearby rock and clapped it in Clay’s hand. “Take your shot. You’ll feel better, I promise. Then just figure out who gets the tapes after you.”

He patted Clay on the shoulder and vanished into the shadows. Clay stared at Tyler, who was fiddling with his camera.

A man who Clay presumed to be Tyler’s father entered the room and stared at the window. “We really need to get this fixed, Tyler.”

“It won’t matter,” said Tyler tonelessly. “Kids are just gonna come and break it again.”

“Tyler, we need names,” he said in exasperation. “We have to report them.”

“I don’t know who they are.”

“Why are they doing this?”

“I don’t know, okay?” said Tyler tightly. “I gotta do my homework.”

With a swift, concerned glance towards his son, Mr. Down departed. Tyler lowered to his desk, looking defeated. Clay put the rock down and left the yard.

Tyler was the subject.

“Did Marcus really skip over everything?” he asked as he returned to his bike.

Hannah snorted. “Definitely not. He listened to every second.”

They started for home. The route Clay took happened to pass by Hannah’s house. Her expression turned uncertain but she didn’t leave. Clay was suddenly transported to the night he had walked Hannah home after a shift. They had talked about the pros and cons of zombies and when they reached her home, Clay had chickened out and hugged her instead of kissed her.

Self-hatred roiled in his gut. Always a coward.

“Any reason why we’re stopping?”

Clay shook his head, bringing himself out of his reminiscing. “Sorry. Just thinking. About how I ruined zombie media for you.”

Hannah smiled softly. “You had a very convincing argument, I must say. You must have debated in front of the mirror.”

“Every night,” deadpanned Clay.

Mr. and Mrs. Baker suddenly entered Hannah’s bedroom and Hannah turned invisible as Clay ducked down. The Bakers had a brief argument that was loud enough to be heard from the sidewalk and Mr. Baker stormed out. Mrs. Baker collapsed onto Hannah’s bed; her head buried her hands.

Clay immediately left.

They were several streets away before Hannah reappeared. Her face was ashen. “I’m a horrible person.”

“You’re not,” said Clay automatically, even though part of him disagreed and he felt awful for it. But he agreed with Marcus. Sending out the tapes, forcing the subjects to listen to all of them—it was cruel.

But they had been cruel to her. Apparently, he had been cruel to her.

Hannah gave a shaky sigh. “I know I didn’t leave my parents a note. But I didn’t know what to say. Nothing would make it better, right? So I figured it was best not to leave one.”

“I think, maybe, they might have appreciated one,” said Clay softly.

“You’re probably right.” Hannah closed her eyes. “But these tapes were kinda my note. And…and I didn’t want my parents to hear any of it.”

_But you were okay with putting us through the trauma?_

Clay bit his tongue.

He returned home and this time Hannah levitated him directly onto the roof near his bedroom window. Clay was relieved when he didn’t throw up from the sensation of being lifted into the air by an otherworldly force.

He spent the rest of the night listening to Tyler’s tape. As the morning sun shone through his blinds, he fumbled for his laptop and brought up the picture that had further condemned Hannah’s reputation.

“Damn,” he whispered.

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” said Hannah, staring at the screen with contempt.

“He put this picture up just because you caught him?”

“No. It’s way pettier than that. He posted it as revenge. Because I confronted him and he asked me to hang out with him and I said no. As if I would go out with a guy who does something like that.” Hannah shook her head in disgust. “Do you remember where you were when you first saw it?”

Clay did remember—he also remembered what he had wanted to do the first time he saw it. He thought he couldn’t hate himself any more than he already did. He was wrong.

“Yeah. But I didn’t know it was you.”

That was the truth. Hannah believed him. She nodded. “You are pretty clueless.”

Clay opened his mouth to protest when a knock fell on his bedroom door. He swiftly closed the lid on his laptop as his father entered. “On a scale of one to ten, how hungover are you?”

Yesterday’s drinking disaster felt like a million years ago. Clay realized that the nausea in his stomach and aching head weren’t just the products of his anxiety but of a chugged beer.

“About a nine.”

“The first hangover is always rough,” said Matt sympathetically.

“It’s going to be my last,” said Clay feelingly.

“While your mother and I certainly hope so, that’s probably not going to be the case. But next time you drink, which will be when you’re of age, you’ll remember that actions have consequences.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

Matt smiled and held out a glass. Hannah recoiled. “Why is he giving you swamp water?”

“Why are you giving me swamp water?” echoed Clay.

“It’ll help with your hangover. Don’t ask what’s in it.” Clay eyed it hesitantly before accepting it. As he took small sips, Matt lowered to sit on the bed beside him. “Your mother and I talked about your grounding situation. I managed to convince her to give you a break, so long as you follow one condition. You gotta start talking to us. Just let us know how you’re doing.”

Clay nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“And your mother would also prefer no closed doors.”

That was one was slightly more annoying. He’d actually have to do it. “Yeah,” he repeated.

“All right. It’s just you and I this morning, so there’s cereal downstairs.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Matt departed and Clay went to put the drink down. Hannah shook her head. “You better finish that. You look like crap.”

“Thanks,” said Clay sarcastically. “This is disgusting.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it. But you look like you’re about to keel over.”

Clay couldn’t argue that. He felt like he was going to keel over. With a disgruntled sigh he started to drink with gulps instead of sips. He drained the glass and Hannah applauded.

“I’d give you a sticker but I don’t have any.”

“Shut up.” Clay wiped the mouth with the back of his hand. But surprisingly, his stomach didn’t feel nearly as terrible. “I’m going to get some actual food.”

“Wait.”

Clay paused near his bedroom door. He turned attentively to look at the brunette. Her voice was serious. “What’s wrong?”

“I obviously don’t want you to tell your parents about the tapes. But open up to them about what you can. Please. I didn’t tell my parents anything. Look what happened.”

There was a darkness to her expression that chilled Clay to the core. “Hannah—”

“I’m not saying that it would have changed anything,” said Hannah quickly. “I—I don’t know if I could have been saved. But I didn’t _try_. Not really. I know this is making me the biggest hypocrite, but don’t bottle up everything. Okay?”

“Okay,” whispered Clay. “I’ll…I’ll try.”

Relief flooded Hannah’s expression. “Thank you.”

They went downstairs, where Matt was at the table eating a bowl of cornflakes. Clay poured his own bowl and said, “Uh, thanks, for the hangover drink. I don’t feel like I’m being run over by truck over and over again.”

“It’s a useful recipe I learned early in life,” said Matt with a nod.

“And about…about the drinking…it wasn’t really my choice.”

Matt turned his full attention onto his son, spoon clattering into his bowl. “Were you forced?”

“Peer pressure would be a good term,” said Clay slowly. He snuck a glance at Hannah, who gave an encouraging nod. “I ran into someone I know from school in a convenience store across town. He bought some alcohol and gave a bottle to me. Turns out a whole group of them were in the alley. So when I went to throw it out, I was pretty much immediately in their clutches. They wouldn’t let me leave unless I had a drink.”

“Are you being bullied?” asked Matt seriously.

Clay shook his head hard. “No. I’m not. I don’t even speak to these guys ever. I guess they were trying to get me to lighten up or whatever. But I didn’t really try too hard to stand up for myself.”

“It sounds like you were outnumbered.”

“Yeah.”

Matt weighed his words carefully before speaking again. “Do you want me to make some calls?”

“Definitely not!” said Clay quickly. “That convenience store was out of my way, anyway, so I won’t be going there again, and it’s the place they frequent, so it won’t happen again. I just…I just wanted you to know I didn’t get drunk because I felt like it.”

Matt reached over to put his hand over Clay’s. “I appreciate that, buddy,” he said softly.

“Do you have to tell mom about this?” asked Clay warily. “She’ll freak out.”

“She will. But I’ll let her know you don’t want to give names, but you’ll tell us if anything like this happens again. Right?”

“Right,” said Clay. There were a dozen knots in his chest and one of them unravelled. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.”

Clay finished his cereal and got ready for school. He bid his father goodbye before dashing outside and getting on his bike. Hannah floated beside him, the morning October sun shining down and filtering through her transparent form. “You going out for Halloween?”

“Nah. Not really my thing,” said Clay. “I’m more of a stay-at-home and binge watch horror movies kind of guy.”

“Zombie ones, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Clay sarcastically. Hannah laughed.

He arrived at Liberty High and locked up his bike. He entered the school and almost immediately spotted Tyler walking down the hall. He called his name and Tyler looked over his shoulder, fear flashing through his eyes. He picked up his pace and Clay tried to catch him but he vanished amongst the milling costumed crowd.

“Damn it,” said Clay in frustration. “Why does no one want to talk to me?”

“I have a few guesses,” replied Hannah.

“Ugh. I look like a punk rock dog.”

“I think you look really hot.”

Clay spun on his heel, shocked to see Justin and Jessica conversing by Jessica’s locker. Hannah raised a brow. “I have no idea who they’re supposed to be dressed up as.”

“Sid Vicious, bassist for the Sex Pistols,” said Clay loudly, attracting the attention of the two teens. “And his girlfriend, Nancy Spungen. Very original.”

“Right?” said Jessica proudly. Justin merely glared daggers at Clay.

“Shame about how their story ended, though,” said Clay.

It was Jessica’s turn to glower. Justin snapped his gaze between the two of them. “What happened to them?” he demanded.

Clay didn’t stick around to hear Jessica’s response. He turned on his heel and strode down the hall. Hannah looked at him. “I thought you wanted to talk to Justin.”

“He looks like he wants to kill me. He’s probably not in a chatty mood.”

“You’re not wrong. Super impressive, by the way. I didn’t know you were into music.”

“I like pop culture history,” said Clay with a shrug. “Doesn’t really matter the time period.”

“Eeeey, there’s our boy!”

“Oh, great,” mumbled Clay.

Bryce and Zach jumped down the stairs and landed just in front of the brown-haired boy. Bryce punched Clay lightly in the chest. “Awesome job yesterday, Jensen. You can really hold your booze.”

“I bet he puked his guts out,” jeered Zach.

“Like you did last weekend after just three wine coolers,” scoffed Bryce.

“Hey, they were strawberry!” defended Zach. “I’m allergic to strawberry.”

“I’m having a Halloween bash at my place,” Bryce told Clay. “It’s gonna be super small. You should come. Alex will be there.”

“Thanks,” said Clay. “I, uh, appreciate the invite. I’ll think about it.”

“You got something better to do?” asked Bryce with a raised brow.

“Right,” said Hannah with a sneer. “Because it’s a personal offense if anyone dares to refuse a party invitation from the great Bryce Walker.”

“I—”

But the excuse came in the form of Tony, who came up behind Clay and squeezed his shoulder. “Unfortunately, he does. He promised to help me with my French homework.”

“Yeah, yeah, I did.” Clay nodded.

The bell trilled and they started to drift away from one another. “Just think about it, Jensen,” Bryce said before he, Zach and Alex ventured down the other end of the hall.

“Thanks,” said Clay grudgingly.

“You’re welcome.”

“Could have used your help last night.”

Tony sighed. “I’m sorry, Clay. I had a family thing.”

Clay gave a tight smile. “Yeah. I’m sure you did.”

He spun around and left without another word. Hannah shot a glance over her shoulder, where Tony was staring after his best friend with an almost anguished expression.

“Clay—”

“You’re going to tell me to give him a break. But what we saw? How can I trust him after that?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Hannah. “But I really don’t think he’d ever hurt you.”

“Then he should have done something last night,” said Clay bitterly.

Hannah softened. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Honestly, the swamp water helped.”

“Doesn’t it suck when parents are right?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure.”

…

When lunch arrived, Clay speed-walked towards the darkroom. His face was set with determination and Hannah shook her head. “Geez, we’re ambushing people now?”

“It’s the only way to talk to him. He’s always in the darkroom at lunch.”

“Probably developing pictures of the people he stalks.”

Clay slipped into the photography room without being noticed. There was a stool in the corner of the darkroom so he sat in it, praying that no one came inside before Tyler. Though he had to wait several minutes, no one came upon him, and finally Tyler showed up.

“I’ll admit it, Tyler, you really do have a talent for this.”

Tyler jumped as if he’d been shocked. “What the hell are you doing, Clay?”

Clay stood up. “You ran away from me earlier.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” said Tyler tightly. “Isn’t throwing a rock through my window enough?”

“I didn’t throw a rock.”

Tyler paused. No, he hadn’t heard any new shattering noises in the middle of the night, and those definitely woke him up. “What do you want from me?”

“What do you think?” said Clay sharply. “Delete the photo from that site. Destroy the negatives, the copies, whatever. Just get rid of all traces of that picture. Or else I’ll turn you in.”

Tyler went stiff. “Turn me in?”

“You realize you broke several laws, right? Stalking. Trespassing.”

“What about Justin? What about Alex?” demanded Tyler.

“I can maybe get Justin on cyberbullying,” said Clay. He still had the picture in his deleted folder in his phone with Justin’s number attached. “But Alex…there’s no proof linking him to the list and I don’t think handwriting is going to cut it. But what they did is nothing compared to what you did. You _stalked_ her. Night after night.”

“I’m the student life photographer!”

“Yeah, for the yearbook, for _school_ ,” snapped Clay. “I wasn’t aware yearbook duties also extended after hours, when we’re not on school property.”

“It isn’t—” started Tyler jerkily.

“I didn’t think so. I hope you didn’t stand outside everyone’s windows. The first offense will get you six months of jailtime. But repeat offenders get a year. I did my research.”

“When?” said Hannah in bafflement.

“You’re making this up,” said Tyler shakily.

Clay shrugged. “Feel free to look it up. But I’m making a simple request, Tyler. Take down the picture. Destroy the physical copies you have.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong! I just took pictures!”

“You humiliated her! You ruined her!”

“I didn’t mean to! I loved her!”

Hannah’s eyes went wide. Clay faltered. “What?”

“I know I didn’t know her. But I saw her. When you take pictures, people pose and they smile and it’s all fake. But not with Hannah. There was no mask with Hannah. It was different.” Tyler looked up and suddenly his eyes were burning. “So yeah. I took pictures of her. But that’s because girls like her don’t hang out with yearbook guys like me.”

Clay’s hands clenched into fists. “Destroy them, Tyler.”

“Even this one?” Tyler pulled down a picture that was hanging on a line to dry. It was of Hannah and Clay, unawares they were being watched, as they walked home together.

Clay stared at it for a moment. “You didn’t love her,” he said at last. “Because if you loved her, you wouldn’t have treated her the way you did. And if you actually bothered to talk to her, without the stalking, she would have given you the time of day. She would have gotten to know you. Because that’s who she was. But no. You hung outside her bedroom window, night after night, snapping picture after unsolicited picture. And when she caught you and confronted you, you suddenly had the nerve to ask her to hang out. What were you expecting, Tyler? For her to say yes? You got angry when she scoffed at you. Rejected you. So you set out to get your revenge.”

“How did you—?” began Tyler in panic.

“Because you weren’t watching closely,” said Clay tightly. “Hannah and I talked. A lot. Of course she said no to you, Tyler. What girl would say yes to a date with their own stalker? You’re a _creep._ ”

A heavy silence rang through the room. Tyler seemed unable to speak.

“If that picture isn’t gone from the site by the end of today, I will take action,” said Clay shortly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He left Tyler to stare numbly at his pictures. As he walked the hall, Hannah stared at him, her lips quivering. “Thanks, Clay. But you really should be careful.”

“Over what? Tyler?”

“If it gets back to the others you’re threatening to take action they’re not gonna be happy.”

“I don’t care what they want,” said Clay savagely. “I care about you. They hurt you. They humiliated you. And they walk these stupid halls as if nothing happened. I’m not going to take it.”

Warmth and happiness engulfed Hannah and she blinked back phantom tears. “Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

Clay didn’t answer. He felt his headache returning with a vengeance. “I’m just going to the bathroom for a sec.”

He ducked into the nearest boy’s bathroom and hid in a stall. He leaned against a wall and closed his eyes, feeling grief squeeze his insides.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, feeling as if the weight of the world was crushing him. He stared blankly at the stall walls, at the pristine grey, and realized the school had done over the graffiti.

He scoffed. Like it would stay clean for long.

He stepped out of the stall and paused at the sound of a toilet flushing. In his swirling thoughts he hadn’t registered someone else coming into the bathroom. Tony stepped out and walked over to the sink, shooting Clay an unreadable expression.

“Not talking to me now,” asked Clay hollowly, staring at Tony’s expression in the mirror.

“I think you’re the one not talking to me,” returned Tony. “Don’t go to Bryce’s party, Clay. Those guys just want to use you. They’re lying to you.”

“So are you.” Tony’s gaze sharpened. “I saw you, last night. I saw where you went. What you did. You expect me to trust you?”

“Clay—”

But Clay didn’t want to hear more excuses or non-answers. He left the bathroom, where Hannah was waiting patiently for him across the hall. She stared at his agitated expression worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

“Just…really tired.”

Guilt flared in Hannah’s eyes. “Yeah. I bet. You know, last period is cancelled for that stupid costume contest. Wanna ditch? You look like you could use some sugar. Tonight’s a great night for it.”

“Sure.” Clay mustered a smile. “Sounds good.”

They left Liberty High and went to Clay’s usual store. He bought a bunch of chocolate bars and a bag of sour gummies. He stuffed most of the candy into his backpack but munched on some milk chocolate as he cycled in lazy circles through town, the autumn air rushing past him.

“I saw Tony go into the bathroom after you,” spoke Hannah as they cruised. “Did he say anything?”

“Just warned me not to listen to Bryce and the others. He told me they were lying. I told him he was lying.”

“Ah. How did he take to that?”

“I ran out before he could give an explanation. I didn’t want to hear it.”

“Or you didn’t want to be lied to?”

Clay glanced at her. “Both, I guess.”

Hannah nodded. “I get that.” She stared at the Halloween decorations decking out the buildings. “So, important question. Favourite Halloween costume you ever had?”

Clay blinked in surprise at what he perceived to be a random switch of topic before he gave it some serious thought. “I went as a Transformer one year. Optimus, I think? It was pretty cool. You?”

“Definitely Poison Ivy. You know, from Batman?”

Clay grinned. “No way. You like Batman?”

“The old movies may be maximum cringe, but I enjoy them,” said Hannah.

“And you call me a dork.”

“You are a dork. I don’t remember saying I _wasn’t_ a dork. Just a slightly cooler dork than you.”

“Not arguing that.”

“All right, _worst_ costume.’

Clay pulled a face. “When I was seven my mom made us do a family theme. I was Peter Pan.”

Hannah gasped in delight. “Tights and everything?”

“Yes,” said Clay with a groan.

“You are showing me pictures.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“How about you? What’s your worst costume?”

“One year I went out as…” Hannah paused for dramatic effect. “…a cheerleader.”

Clay snorted. “That’s _not_ the worst.”

“It so is. I know you think Sheri is cool, but most cheerleaders are horrible people. The ones I’ve met, anyway. I’m still ashamed I caved in to societal standards of coolness and popularity.”

“Well, at least you were scary,” said Clay solemnly.

“Nothing scarier than a cheerleader,” said Hannah seriously.

As the sky darkened, they made idle chatter as Clay looped through the streets. The trick-or-treaters began spilling onto sidewalks and they ranked each costume they saw on creativity and originality. Their game quickly came to a halt when they noticed teenagers TPing Hannah’s house.

“Hey!” barked Clay, coming to a halt and leaping off his bike. “What are you doing?”

Upon being spotted, the teens fled, leaving strands of toilet paper floating from tree branches and stuck in bushes. Clay immediately started ripping the toilet paper from the bushes near the fence. “Jerks.”

The front door clanged open and Mrs. Baker hurried onto the porch. The fury in her expression died when she noticed it was Clay. “Clay?”

“Mrs. Baker,” said Clay, feeling Hannah’s presence despite not seeing her. “Uh, there were some kids, and I scared them off. I was just going to clean it up.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, no, I don’t mind,” insisted Clay. “I’ll clean up and then I’ll go—"

“No!” The response came out more forceful than intended. Mrs. Baker cleared her throat and said in a quieter tone, “Please, come inside when you’re finished.”

Clay hesitated. “I don’t—”

The plea came not from Mrs. Baker but from Hannah, whose voice was barely just above a whisper.

“Sure,” Clay said instead. “Yeah. I’ll come inside when I’m done.”

Mrs. Baker beamed at him. “Thank you.”

She disappeared back inside the house and Clay returned to clearing the litter from the front yard. Hannah, still invisible, assisted by creating small gusts of wind to blow the toilet paper down from the trees. “I don’t really know what to say to her,” muttered Clay. “I mean, how is it fair? I still get to talk to you.”

Hannah closed her eyes. “I know. But…but you’re the only one who knew me. Properly knew me.”

_I don’t think I did, though,_ thought Clay.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you. I know it must be beyond awkward and…and painful, but I really think it’ll help my mom. To talk about me with someone other than my dad.”

“And Tony, apparently,” said Clay dryly.

“I don’t know if help is the right word,” said Hannah. “He meets with her, sure, but he can’t _tell_ her anything. All he knows is the stuff about the tapes.”

They finished cleaning up the yard and Clay had a bundle of toilet paper in his arms. Hannah directed him to the trash can sitting by the garage and he crammed the torn pieces of litter inside.

“I’m guessing you’re leaving?”

“I can’t…I can’t go in there,” whispered Hannah, pain cracking her voice.

“It’s okay. I’ll meet you back at my place.”

“All right.” Hannah rested her hand on his shoulder. “Seriously, Clay, thank you.”

He knew she was gone when the chill left his bones and the goosebumps settled. He took a deep breath and entered the house, wiping his feet on the welcome mat. He wandered slowly down the hall until he spotted Mrs. Baker in the living room. There was a glass of bubbling soda for him and a glass of wine for her.

“I, uh, finished,” he muttered, fidgeting in the doorway.

“I really appreciate that, Clay,” said Mrs. Baker sincerely. “Please, sit. I hope soda is okay. Unless you would prefer something else? Water? Coffee?”

“Soda is fine.” Clay lowered into the beige armchair. “Thanks.”

“My husband suggested we not give out candy this year,” she said, taking a sip of red wine. “He thought seeing all the kids would make me emotional. Turns out not giving out candy just attracts them even more.”

“I’m sorry. Kids can be…”

“Yes. They can,” said Mrs. Baker softly. “I…Hannah didn’t really have friends. Not close ones like you. I’m thrilled to finally get the chance to talk with you.”

Clay flinched. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I—”

He was about to say he’d been busy. That he didn’t have time. But staring in Mrs. Baker’s face, the pain that shone so clearly in her eyes, he couldn’t lie. She deserved to know that her daughter hadn’t spent her last year of high school all alone.

“It’s been hard,” he whispered. “I miss her everyday. I quit work shortly after she…she died.” The word nearly got stuck in his throat. “I couldn’t continue working there without her.”

Mrs. Baker’s eyes glimmered. “She…she didn’t talk about you.”

Clay gave a rueful smile. “And I didn’t talk about her with my parents. But she…she was one of my best friends.”

_I wanted her to be more._

“I wish teenagers weren’t so determined to keep everything quiet,” said Mrs. Baker softly, staring down at her glass. “So determined to keep their feelings from their parents.” She went quiet for a few seconds before looking up. “I…I know this must seem like an insensitive question, but did Hannah ever talk to you? About any negative experiences she had at school?”

“Those weren’t really things we talked about,” said Clay honestly. “We sort of…had an unspoken agreement, I guess? I didn’t talk about my anxiety or my problems. She didn’t talk about hers. I don’t know why. We danced together at the winter formal. We went up on the roof of the Crestmont and watched a shadow pass over the moon. We talked at school and I would walk her home from work. I guess…I guess we just took comfort in each other’s company.”

Mrs. Baker took a slow breath and nodded. “Well, I’m grateful for that, at least. We moved here for a fresh start. Especially for Hannah. I just keep asking myself, what happened?”

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that Mrs. Baker didn’t get to know the reasons why Hannah killed herself. It wasn’t fair that Clay and a group of insensitive, uncaring, arrogant and self-centered teens knew and her own mother didn’t. The tapes wouldn’t help Mrs. Baker’s grief but it would be an explanation.

Clay’s fingers twitched towards his backpack, which rested in his lap and where the Walkman was safely housed.

But he couldn’t. It wasn’t his place. It was Hannah’s.

And for all he knew, Mrs. Baker would despise him after she listened to his tape. He still didn’t know what he had done. But, like everyone else, it must have been horrible and unforgiveable.

“It wasn’t you.” He looked Mrs. Baker dead in the eye. “I…I may not know what she went through. But I know she loved you. And Mr. Baker. Very much. She, uh, talked about you. Teens…teens don’t usually like their parents. But she did.”

Tears began to cascade down Mrs. Baker’s cheeks. “Thank you, Clay.” She gave a small hiccup and rubbed at her eyes. “Look at me. I’m a mess. I’m going to freshen up. I’ll be back.”

She left to use the bathroom and Clay stayed in the chair, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. His eyes found a framed picture of Hannah as a little girl, feeding a horse. His heart lurched.

_Her bedroom is here._

He’d only ever looked at it through a window. His mind seemed to leave him as he stood, walking mechanically down the hall. He stopped in the doorframe, staring at the pale purple-painted walls decked out with artwork and posters.

He could envision them—Courtney and Hannah lounging on this very bed. Tipsy from the alcohol they had snuck. Playing a game of dare. Hannah being delighted that she had a new friend. Courtney daring Hannah to kiss her.

“Everything okay?”

Clay managed to not to express his startlement. He gave his head a hard shake. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay.”

“This is Hannah’s room?”

A sad expression crossed Mrs. Baker’s face as she stepped further inside. “Yes. It is.” Her gaze travelled to the window and realization chased away the sadness. Clay’s heart skipped a few bits. “But you already knew that. I thought…I thought maybe I was imagining things, but you were here. Standing outside that window.”

Panic consumed Clay. “I…I…”

“It’s okay!” said Mrs. Baker quickly. “I’m not angry. Maybe we could help each other. You must have questions?”

_Yes. What was she like as a kid? Did she have friends at her old school? Was she chased out of there? Was that why you had to come here? Did she ever have a pet?_

But these were questions he could ask Hannah. The very thought caused guilt to mingle with his panic, creating a toxic storm in his chest. “Mrs. Baker, I really should be getting home.”

“She didn’t leave a note,” said Mrs. Baker desperately. “We didn’t get a reason. I just…I just want to piece some things together. I don’t want to feel like I didn’t know my own daughter.” She looked at Clay pleadingly. “I have some of her photos. Some of her notes. We could look at them together. Please?”

Hannah’s voice rang through his mind. _Please._

“Okay,” he managed.

Immense gratitude flooded Mrs. Baker’s face and she raced off to retrieve them. Clay numbly went to sit on the edge of Hannah’s bed. He was struck with her scent, of her shampoo and laundry detergent. Tears blurred his eyes and he frantically scrubbed them away.

_They didn’t get a note. You got Hannah. Do this for Mrs. Baker._

It was the least he could do.

She brought in the notes and the pictures. Most of them had no meaning, except for two pieces. The picture Justin had taken of Hannah on the slide and the hot list.

Clay felt a lump form in his throat. He would not tell the truth. But he would not lie. He didn’t care what Tony might have already said or not said.

“Uh, these two—” He pointed to photo Mrs. Baker must have printed off from Hannah’s phone and the crumpled piece of lined paper. Mrs. Baker straightened. “Someone sent that picture all over the school. I, uh, don’t know who. But people thought it was Hannah being…easy. But it wasn’t. She told me so. And this is a hot list. They, uh, happen from time to time. I don’t know who makes them. But Hannah didn’t appreciate it. It made her really upset. It also didn’t help with the rumours.”

“Rumours?” said Mrs. Baker at once. “What rumours?”

“That Hannah was easy.”

“You mean a slut.”

It was said bitterly and Clay winced. “Yes,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said Mrs. Baker, clenching the paper in her hands. “You’ve been very helpful. You don’t know who was behind these?”

“No,” he lied. “I don’t.”

Mrs. Baker gave a tremulous smile. “You have no idea how much this means to me, Clay.”

“It wasn’t much,” muttered Clay.

“It was more than enough.”

There was something in her expression that changed. Almost as if one out of a dozen knots had loosened in her chest, too. Clay stood. “I really should be going, Mrs. Baker.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

“No, I’m good to ride my bike.”

Mrs. Baker hugged him goodbye and watched him off from her front porch. Clay took in slow deep breaths as he pedalled. The night had been anxiety-inducing. But somehow, it also lifted one of those many weights from his shoulders.

Hannah wasn’t in his room when he got home. Taking the rare free time, he determinedly combed through his laptop and deleted all inappropriate and indecent pictures of females. They didn’t deserve to be gawked out, no matter how willingly they posed.

A text alert chimed and he checked it. It was from Marcus, asking if he was coming over to Bryce’s Halloween party.

Clay typed a response.

**_Sorry, helping Tony with his French homework like I promised._ **

He turned his phone off and shoved it across his desk. He didn’t need fake friends. They were toxic.

A knock fell on his door and Matt opened it. “A gentle reminder that this meant to stay open.”

“Sorry,” Clay said sincerely. “I forgot. I’ll work on it.”

“You certainly slipped in late tonight.”

“Yeah. I was riding by the Bakers. Some kids were TPing the place. I told Mrs. Baker I’d clean it for her.”

It felt nice not to lie. Maybe Hannah had a point.

“You’re a good kid, Clay,” said Matt, pride welling within him. “Dinner’s ready. And your mom has a surprise for you.”

“Er, okay.”

Clay shut down his laptop and eyed the tapes. He stuffed the box into his backpack and took it with him downstairs. He came to a halt when he nearly ran into Tony. “What are you doing here?” he asked in bafflement.

“Your mom invited me.”

“There you are!” said Lainie brightly. “I ran into Tony’s dad at school today and realized I hadn’t seen Tony in a long time. I thought I’d invite him over for dinner.”

“Great,” said Clay, strained.

He sat down at the dinner table and was partway through cutting his chicken when goosebumps prickled along his flesh. Hannah strode inside and did a double-take at the sight of Tony at the dinner table. “Geez. What did I miss?”

_You have no idea._

Clay kept quiet for most of the conversation, which was led by his mother. But he bristled when the topic turned to brothers. “You fight with yours, Tony?” asked Clay, choosing his words deliberately.

Tony looked at him, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “We’re not afraid of a little confrontation. But we know whose side we’re on.”

“How’s that history project going?” asked Matt, spooning some corn into his mouth. When Tony looked confused, he clarified, “With the cassettes.”

It was Tony’s turn to flip the tables. “That’s a good question. How’s it going, Clay?”

Seeing Clay tense, Hannah warned, “Please do not start a fist-fight at the dinner table.”

“It’s going,” muttered Clay, stabbing at his potatoes. “Slowly. Painfully.”

Tony’s expression softened. Lainie furrowed her brow. “What exactly is the project about?”

“It’s about the people who came before us,” answered Clay. “It’s an oral history project. We listen to the cassettes other students made about, uh, historical figures, and we contribute with our own before passing it on.”

Matt was impressed. “That’s very collaborative. Which historical figures?”

“Dead ones,” said Clay bluntly, and Hannah burst into laughter, and her flippancy regarding her own death only soured Clay’s mood further.

The rest of the night went by with Clay remaining quiet. When it came time for Tony to leave, he grudgingly accepted Tony’s request to walk him to his car. They stepped out into the night and when they were alone, Tony said, “The guy you saw us fighting? He messed with my sister. We took care of it.”

All bitterness dissolved and was replaced with concern. “You should call the police,” said Clay urgently.

Tony shook his head. “The police in my neighbourhood are a little different than yours, Clay. Sometimes when there’s no justice you have make it for yourself.”

It was as if an electric charge ran through Clay’s body. The cogs in his brain fired and worked overtime. “Yeah,” he said, though he wasn’t fully aware he was speaking.

“You’re not going to Bryce’s, are you?” asked Tony suspiciously.

“No.”

_I have other plans._

Tony gave a slow nod. “Okay. Good. See you later, Clay.”

Tony climbed into his car and drove off. Hannah came down the steps and asked, “How did it go? With my mother?”

Clay told her all about the conversation they had. Hannah bit her lip. “I guess it’s about time someone told her some semblance of truth. I’m sorry it had to be you.”

“I think, deep down, she already knew,” said Clay softly.

“She probably did. But it’s been a pretty depressing day. Let’s do something.”

Clay quirked a brow. “I thought you were out doing stuff.”

Hannah grinned. “It’s Halloween. Ghosts haunt on Halloween. I had to spook somebody. I went to Bryce’s and made their lights go off. They were stoned out of their minds so they freaked out. It was hilarious.”

Clay snorted in laughter. “I so wish I could have seen that. But yeah, we can do something. But first I’m going to get some justice.”

Hannah immediately became suspicious. “What do you mean?”

“Follow me.”

Clay grabbed his bike and sped off, following the route to Tyler’s house. He climbed off his bike and snuck into the yard, less anxious than he was the first time. Now he was fuelled with purpose.

“I thought you weren’t going to,” said Hannah as he grabbed a rock.

“He didn’t delete the picture,” growled Clay.

He lifted his arm.

Tyler stepped out of his bathroom, shirtless. He started to wiggle out of his pants and underwear, his back facing the window.

Clay was struck with inspiration. He dropped the rock and yanked out his phone. He snapped a picture.

“Are you crazy?” hissed Hannah. “If you send that around, he could report you!”

“Justin didn’t get reported,” countered Clay. “He did the exact same thing.”

“Justin is a jock. The school values their athletes above everyone else. They wouldn’t dare touch him. But they don’t give a damn about you.”

“In the tape, you said you wanted Tyler to feel how you felt,” snapped Clay. “The humiliation. The fear. I’m going to give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“But you’re going to get in trouble!”

“I don’t care. I am not going to just stand by and listen. Not anymore. If they don’t regret what they did to you, they will.” Eyes hard with fury and heartbreak, Clay said, “I’m going to get you as much justice as I can, Hannah. But if you really don’t want me to, tell me right now.”

There was a few seconds of silence. Hannah waged an internal battle. She didn’t want Clay to spiral downward because of her. She didn’t want him to fall. She didn’t want her fears to become true—that she would ruin him.

But Tyler stalked her. He invaded her privacy. He made her afraid to be in her own home, her own bedroom. She hated him for it. She could not lie to herself. A vengeful, petty part of her had made those tapes. That same part of her refused to find the words to persuade Clay not to follow through with his plan.

Clay pressed send.

“That’s it, then,” he said and Hannah suddenly felt like crying even though she couldn’t shed tears.

There were no words to describe how much she loved him in this moment.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I think those cheesy Batman movies are available for streaming. Wanna watch?”

He was trying to ignore the fact he had just committed an act of cyberbullying. Hannah helped him out. “Definitely. You still have that candy to consume and it’s Halloween.”

Clay swung his leg over his bike and took off down the dark street. Hannah floated behind him, humming the Batman theme under her breath and Clay joined in.

“I still want to see those Peter Pan pictures,” said Hannah, breaking her rhythm.

_“No.”_


	8. Impact

After watching a couple of old Batman movies and looking at embarrassing childhood pictures, Hannah turned in for the night. Her transparent form went very still and faded slightly whenever she was ‘sleeping’, and it was disturbing not to see her chest rise and fall. When she was conscious, she went through the motions of inhaling and exhaling out of habit, not necessity.

Clay avoided looking at her prone (dead) form and dug the Walkman from his bag. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew who the next subject of the tape was and it came as no surprise when Courtney’s name was mentioned. His heart lurched in his chest and bile rose in his throat as Hannah reminisced about the Winter Formal, about the dance they shared, and how it had all gone wrong.

It was difficult to fall asleep after that. When he did it was not a fitful slumber and he awoke a few short hours later doused in sweat, gasping for breath, after a particularly vivid dream. He had been dancing with Hannah, a ballroom waltz interrupted by blood pooling out of Hannah’s wrists, Jeff sarcastically applauding him from the sidelines with a gash in his head, and Courtney literally stabbing Hannah in the back.

_No no no no no._

Hannah was by his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?” she asked urgently.

Clay screwed his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing. He felt like he was suffocating. “I’m fine,” he choked out. “I’m fine.”

Hannah watched him worriedly. Her eyes fell on the Walkman sitting on his bedside table. “You listened to another tape?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, gingerly sitting up. He was horrified to see dark patches staining his grey pajama shirt. “Damn.”

“Was it a nightmare?” asked Hannah softly.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Clay hoarsely.

“It might make you feel better,” said Hannah stubbornly. “My mom used to tell me talking about the nightmares takes away their power. It worked for me.” She paused. “Well, when I chose to talk to her about them, anyway.”

Clay didn’t answer, his shoulders heaving as he tried to get air into his lungs. After a few minutes he looked up and said tiredly, “It was about you. We were at the Winter Formal. Blood started coming out of your wrists. Jeff was there and he was bleeding from his head. Courtney came and stabbed you in the back with a knife.”

Hannah flinched. “That’s pretty gruesome.”

“No crap,” said Clay flatly.

“That wasn’t very helpful, was it? Sorry.”

Clay gave a tired sigh. “It’s fine. I’m, uh, sorry you have to see me like this.”

“I don’t mind,” said Hannah. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Clay stood up and studied his sheets, cursing under his breath when he realized they were just as soaked. “I’ll be back. I gotta throw these in the laundry.”

He seized the blue sheets and crumpled them in a ball. He jogged downstairs and was dismayed when he met his mother at the bottom. “Doing some early morning clean up?” she asked curiously.

“Just some laundry,” said Clay, trying to move past her.

But the massive sweat stains on his shirt could not be missed. Lainie’s eyes glinted with concern as she moved to block his way. “Honey, did you have an accident?”

“What? No!”

“You’re covered in sweat.” She gently ran her fingers through Clay’s hair, which was damp. “Are you sick?”

He was sick. His stomach was twisting and turning but not because of illness. He opened his mouth, ready to deliver a lie, but Hannah’s voice piped up in the back of his mind. _Open up to them about what you can. Please._

“I had a nightmare,” he whispered. “Stupid, right?”

“It’s not stupid,” said Lainie sternly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I’m fine now.” That was a lie but he couldn’t very well tell his mother what his nightmare was about.

Lainie took his bedding and said, “I’ll do it. I have to throw in a load anyway. Go take a nice hot shower and we’ll have breakfast when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Lainie cradled his cheek. “You’re welcome.” She hesitated before asking seriously, “Was your nightmare about those boys?”

It took a minute for Clay to understand what she was talking about. “No! No, Mom, it wasn’t about the jerks who made me drink.”

“All right. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“I know.”

He went upstairs and took a shower, the warm water running down his body. Clay stared blankly at the white tiles, trying in vain to banish the crimson-coated Hannah from his mind. His body started to shudder with sobs and he tilted his head back to let the spray mingle with his tears.

In his dream, Hannah had pleaded with him to help her. To save her. But he couldn’t. He failed her in life. He couldn’t fail her in death, too.

He didn’t leave the bathroom until the redness disappeared from his eyes. Hannah was waiting for him in the hallway and she looked at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Clay said, forcing a smile. “Sorry about that.”

“If you apologize one more time, I’m going to have to hit you.”

“I think that’s physically impossible.”

“Touché.”

Clay went downstairs to eat breakfast, keeping a close watch on the time. School would be starting in just about an hour. Courtney was never late so he would have to eat his breakfast quickly if he was going to make it.

He shovelled a piece of toast into his mouth just as his mother started to speak. “Clay, I need to talk to you about something—”

“Sorry, I gotta go,” said Clay thickly, standing up and seizing his backpack. “Going to Monet’s for a drink before school. Love you guys.”

He hurried out of the house and grabbed his bike. “Why are we going to Monet’s so early?” asked Hannah in bewilderment.

“In the tape you said Courtney and her family have coffee every morning,” spoke Clay. “There’s only one place in town to have coffee.”

“You’re going to spy on them?”

Clay flushed. “I’m not going to spy. Just observe.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “If you’re trying to be non-creepy, it’s not working.”

“Says the girl who spied on all of them,” shot back Clay.

“Dang. That’s another touché.”

They arrived at Monet’s and when they entered, Clay immediately spotted Courtney with her two dads at one of the tables. He quickly ordered an iced tea lemonade and slowly walked by where they were sitting. They were talking about Courtney’s schoolwork but the girl seemed preoccupied with her phone, her forehead pinched.

“You’re really blowing up this morning, sweetheart. Social or school?”

“It’s a big test,” lied Courtney. “Everyone’s freaking out about it. Just the usual.”

She turned out to stow her phone into her backpack, which hung off the back of her chair. Her eyes landed on Clay and she froze. Clay stared stonily back and he slowly unearthed the Walkman from his bag, letting it clank against the tabletop.

For a second, Courtney didn’t move.

“I should go,” she said, whipping around to address her fathers. “I have to stop by the florist on the way to school, for Hannah’s memorial.”

They bid each other goodbye and Courtney hurried out of Monet’s. She paused outside the window, staring through the slates of the blinds at Clay. The boy never looked away, never wavered, and Courtney’s nerves skyrocketed.

She speed-walked down the street.

When she was out of sight, Hannah put her hand on her hip. “You came all the way here just to intimidate her?”

“I just wanted to let her know where I’m at in the tapes,” said Clay calmly, taking a sip of his drink. “Do you think she got it?”

Hannah raised a brow. “Yeah. She got it. Subtle you are not.”

“I don’t get it.” Clay glanced over at Courtney’s dads, watching them converse. “Why is she so freaked out about people finding out she’s gay? Her parents are gay, for crying out loud. It’s the twenty-first century.”

“And I’m sure she, and them, for that matter, faced some crap for it,” returned Hannah. “Being gay still isn’t universally accepted, Clay. She’s scared. She’s not ready to come out.”

“But she didn’t have to throw you under the bus,” said Clay with a frown.

“I was an easy scapegoat,” muttered Hannah. “My reputation was already in tatters. She didn’t care if she slandered it even more to save herself. Kind of a running trend in my life, isn’t it?”

Clay tilted his head back and drained the rest of his drink, the cold liquid doing little to douse the hot anger simmering in his chest. “Come on. We better get to school.”

When he biked past the front entrance of Liberty High, it was to see the jocks mooning Tyler. Clay stared at them as he rode by and Tyler shifted his head. They made eye contact and Hannah stilled.

Tyler’s eyes were dead.

She knew that look. She recognized that expression. It used to stare back at her out of a mirror, when she still had a reflection.

_Now he knows how you felt._

Hannah whipped her head around, her hands shaking by her sides. Isn’t that what she wanted? For them to feel some remorse? To understand how she felt? To give some of them a taste of their own medicine?

“Hey. You okay?”

Hannah shook herself out of her thoughts and looked at Clay, who had paused in locking up his bike to stare at her in worry. “I’m fine,” she said. “Tyler’s probably going to be waiting inside for you.”

“Probably,” said Clay dryly. “Might as well get it over with.”

He snapped the lock shut and walked across the parking lot. He shoved open the doors and stepped inside the bustling hallway. He saw Tyler standing by his locker and he steeled himself for a confrontation.

“What the hell, Clay?” he demanded shakily as Clay started to twist the dial on his locker. “That picture is all over school.”

“Funny how that happens, isn’t it?” responded Clay flatly.

“What are you trying to do?”

“I gave you a deadline, Tyler. I told you to take it down. You didn’t. So I’m doing something about it.” Clay grabbed his books and slammed his locker shut, making Tyler jump slightly. “That’s more than any of you did for Hannah. Now you know how she felt, Tyler. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Tyler took a hard breath. “Why am I only one you’ve done something about?”

“You’re just the first, Tyler. Not the last.”

Clay turned on his heel and walked off without waiting for a response. He passed by Hannah’s memorial, where Courtney and her court were arranging flowers. “At least they learned,” said Hannah, eyeing the vases of carnations.

_Too little too late,_ thought Clay darkly.

He remembered buying his Winter Formal ticket in that same spot. Hannah had approached him, grabbing his shoulders and using his weight as support to do a little jump. He cringed as he recalled his complete awkwardness when Courtney had told him to tell Hannah she should go to the dance.

Now he wished he had told her not to go. Maybe he could have saved her some heartache. Maybe Courtney would have latched onto a different excuse without Hannah there.

Or maybe Hannah’s absence would have just made the situation worse. Though, in the current circumstances, that was difficult to believe.

He continued on down the hall, passing by Justin and Jessica, who were having an intense conversation. Justin abruptly stopped talking upon spotting Clay and started after him. Hannah eyed him warily. “Justin incoming.”

“Great. Just what I wanted,” said Clay sarcastically.

“Clay!”

Clay paused on the stairs and waited for Justin to catch up. The jock surveyed Clay intently. “That was a pretty picture you took of Tyler.”

Clay shrugged. “Not as pretty as the one he took of Hannah.”

“You made your point. You got your revenge on that freak. Now shut it down,” said Justin warningly.

Clay blinked. “Shut what down?”

“Whatever it is you think you’re doing,” snapped Justin. “Listen. This is beyond just us now. This is the whole school. If we fall, you go down with us.”

“Right. I’ve been meaning to ask, Justin. Are you sorry? For what you did to her? Or I guess what you let Bryce do to her?”

Justin was up the remaining steps separating them in a second. They were nose to nose and Justin’s eyes were lit with fury. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snarled.

Clay recoiled. “The picture.”

Justin blinked rapidly and, when he realized what Clay was talking about, hastily retreated a few steps. “Oh. That. Yeah, sure. I’m sorry,” he said flippantly. “But she completely overreacted.”

Clay gave a tight smile. “Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but not surprising. Later, Justin.”

He turned on his heel and continued on his way. Hannah glanced over her shoulder, watching Justin glare after Clay. But there was something in his eyes—fear, terror, panic and…anguish.

They kind of mirrored the emotions Courtney had on her tear-streaked face when she discovered the picture of the two of them kissing.

“What was with his reaction? That was weird, right?”

“Who knows?” said Hannah vaguely. “You really do need to be careful around him,”

_You haven’t listened to all of the tapes yet. You have no idea what they’ll do to keep you quiet._

“So you keep saying,” said Clay. “What’s the worst they can do? Kill me?”

“Again, being hypocritical here, but I don’t want that to happen.”

“Look, I’ve been thinking.” Clay came to a halt and took a quick glance around to make sure no one was paying him any attention. “In the movies, the reason ghosts can’t move on to the afterlife is because they have unfinished business on Earth. And you, uh…”

He trailed off and Hannah could not help but grin. “I’ve got nothing but unfinished business, right?”

“Exactly,” said Clay with a nod. “What if me getting back at all of them will help you move on? It may not be legal justice or whatever, but it’s our form of justice.”

Hannah pursed her lips. “I don’t really think sending around a picture of Tyler’s butt to the whole school is a point in my favour for where I’d like to go.”

“Er, well, you didn’t take the picture, I did.”

There was apprehension on Clay’s face and Hannah snorted. “Worried for the state of your soul?”

“Well, I am now,” muttered Clay. “But I’ve got time to…to ask for forgiveness. What do you think?”

“I guess it’s a good a try as any,” said Hannah thoughtfully. “They don’t feel sorry, or I guess not as sorry as I want them to be. Except Alex, so just leave him be. And Jessica…” She faltered for a moment. “She’s already been through enough. And she apologized the night of the Winter Formal. We just didn’t really…reconnect.”

“All right. I’ll leave Alex and Jessica alone.”

“And no more illegal stunts,” added Hannah firmly.

Clay raised a brow. “For the health of my soul?”

“And the health of your future,” said Hannah seriously. “You still have a future, Clay. Don’t go ruining it because of me.”

“Hannah—”

“I mean it.”

It was difficult, to think about the future when he knew there was a chance she wouldn’t be in it. She wanted to move on and he would do what he could to help her achieve that. Even if it meant losing her for a second time.

He swallowed past the lump that formed in his throat. “All right. Nothing illegal. We’ll find a way to get your justice without revealing the tapes and without breaking any laws.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Throughout his classes, he tried brainstorming ideas on how to get back at Courtney and Justin. But creativity wasn’t his strong suit and there were streaks of black marker covering up half-hearted plans as he scratched them out.

**_Do you have any suggestions?_ **

He jabbed his elbow into Hannah’s side. She felt the pulse of warmth and tilted her chin towards Clay’s desk, peering at the message he’d written. She shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. I got nothing.”

**_Helpful._ **

“I try my best,” she said cheekily.

Clay rolled his eyes and gave up. His retaliation against Tyler hadn’t been planned. It was born out of spur-of-the-moment inspiration. Maybe the same would happen for Courtney and Justin, and whoever else was on the tapes.

_What are you going to do to punish yourself?_

Clay’s heart grew cold. The hand holding his pencil shook. Hannah didn’t notice.

_Not thinking about that. Not thinking about that._

He forced himself to take notes even though he was barely been paying attention and the notes would therefore be useless to him. The bell trilled and Clay’s dread only grew, for his most hated class of the day had arrived.

“Today’s the fun run, isn’t it?” asked Hannah as they spilled out into the hallway, joining the flow of students.

“There’s nothing fun about it,” muttered Clay. “It’s three miles of torture. It’s Orwellian.”

Hannah clapped him on the back and by this point Clay no longer jumped or flinched at the artic sensation caused by her ghostly touch. “Of course it is. It’s why they do it. I’ll meet you outside. Unless you’re skipping?”

“Not planning on it,” returned Clay.

Hannah grinned and departed. Clay shuffled to the gym and entered the locker room, where most of his peers were already in the midst of changing. He took his sweet time, slowly peeling off his jeans and hoodie. It felt oddly warm, without Hannah’s presence causing the chill he had become accustomed to.

By the time he stepped into the gym everyone else was gone. He stood for a minute, gazing around the spacious room, his mind transporting him back to the night of the Winter Formal. The lights had been shut off, the spotlights had caught the silver snowflakes and fairy lights and strands of foil decorations, creating a glittery glaze over the horde of dancing teenagers.

He had been sitting in the bleachers on one side of the gym, feeling awkward and out of place and regretting his decision to come. Then he had seen Hannah, sitting in the bleachers across the room, and they had made eye contact.

His chest had flared with hope. But he had not had the courage to walk over to her. Not until Jeff Atkins had settled next to him and told him to go get her.

Jeff had given him confidence. Jeff had given him courage.

And so Clay had stood up. Hannah had stood up with him.

They had met in the middle of the dance floor. A fast-paced rock song blared throughout the gym and they had moved like maniacs, jumping up and down and flailing their arms.

Then the slow song had started. The song Clay desperately tried to find after she had passed and failed in his efforts.

It had been the most magical night of his life.

Her in his arms. Him in hers. It had felt right. It had felt natural.

He should have kissed her. Maybe he would have. But then Hannah, being the good friend none of the others had been to her, had noticed a drunk Jessica in Justin’s arms. She had wanted to help.

And then freaking Monty had shown up. Spewing the lies Courtney had told. He remembered being shocked. That was the expression Hannah had seen on his face.

He hoped she had just seen shock. He tried to call after her. But he hadn’t gone after her.

He never went after her.

“Clay!”

The shout pierced through his deep thoughts and he jumped a foot into the air. He looked wildly around the room, which suddenly seemed overly bright. He squinted at Tony, who was regarding him with concern. “What?”

“You’re missing the fun run,” Tony said slowly. “I came looking for you. What are you doing?”

Clay scrubbed a hand down his face. He was suddenly very tired and very sad. “I don’t know,” he said in exhaustion. “I’m just trying to keep going.”

Tony lowered to sit next to his best friend, his eyes intent. “And how is that going for you?”

“It’s going,” said Clay flatly. “Not enough for a fun run, though.”

“I get that. But some fresh air and exercise might do you some good.”

“Maybe.”

Tony hesitated before saying, “Clay, what you did to Tyler, that was messed up.”

Clay shrugged. “So? What Tyler did to Hannah was messed up. He didn’t give a crap, Tony. Why should I?”

“Because that’s not who you are,” said Tony firmly. “I know you’re hurting, Clay. But hurting others isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

_No. But it might make Hannah feel better. It might help her move on._

“When you were the DJ at the Winter Formal, do you remember that one slow song you played?” asked Clay suddenly, and he wondered why he hadn’t bothered to ask Tony when he first started searching for the song.

“I played a lot of them, Clay,” said Tony in bemusement. “Why?”

Clay’s hopes at finally learning the title and artist were dashed. “It…it was just the most amazing song. That’s all.” He stood up even though his legs felt heavy. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

“Good man.”

When Clay stepped out into the bright sunlight Hannah let out a sigh of relief. “Finally! I was just about to come looking for you. What the heck happened?”

“You go ahead,” said Clay. “I’ll be lagging behind.”

Tony gave Clay’s shoulder a squeeze and he started jogging. Clay followed at a slower pace, Hannah floating beside him. “I got held up,” he answered. “I was…I was in the gym, and I was thinking about the Winter Formal.”

“It was a pretty great night, wasn’t it?” asked Hannah softly. “I mean, up until the end, anyway.”

“Courtney really didn’t apologize?”

“I mean, she did. But…but I don’t think she meant it. She never tried to properly be a friend, after that.”

“Do you think you would have forgiven her? If she tried to start over?”

Hannah bit her lip. “I…I honestly don’t know. She screwed me over, you know? She didn’t think about me. She just wanted to stoke the fires of my rumour so the attention would be away from her. People believed her because, you know, she’s Courtney Crimsen. It doesn’t matter, anyway. She basically avoided me, after that.” She gave her head a sharp shake. “But I don’t like thinking about it. I prefer to think about our dance. It was the best part of that horrible night. It was…it was magical.”

“Yeah,” said Clay, and if his voice was strangled, they both pretended not to hear it. “It was.”

Courtney had used Hannah as a shield that night. A disposable shield. Then she left Hannah to pick up the pieces of her reputation, which continued to get ripped and slashed, until Hannah finally gave up.

The idea hit him, much like the one he had for Tyler, like a lightning bolt.

This time, it wasn’t illegal.

Clay’s determination formed, steely and unwavering. Hannah eyed him. “You’ve got that look about you.”

“I’m going to take Courtney to a special place this afternoon,” said Clay with narrowed eyes. “I’m going to show her what she’s done.”

“Where are you taking her?” asked Hannah suspiciously.

“You’re grave.”

Hannah blinked, stunned for a second. “Oh. That’s…that’s kinda cruel.”

“So is what she did to you,” returned Clay.

Hannah couldn’t argue that.

Thanks to his pitiful attempt at the three-mile run, Clay didn’t need to shower. He walked briskly through the halls and arrived at Courtney’s classroom just as the bell rang. Courtney stepped out and she looked startled—and wary—upon spotting Clay.

“Hey, Clay.”

“The other day, you asked if I was okay. I’m not. I’m not doing well. So I was wondering if maybe we could go somewhere and talk?”

There was sliver of relief on Courtney’s face. “Yeah. Of course we can.”

“Can we go now? If you don’t mind?”

Courtney hesitated, but only for a split second. “Sure. Is there someplace you’d like to go?”

“Yeah, if you could drive, that’d be great.”

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

“Thank you, Courtney.”

Courtney smiled at him. “You’re welcome, Clay.”

Clay turned on his heel and strode towards the double-doors leading outside. He recognized Courtney’s car and waited beside it. It wasn’t long before Courtney arrived and they settled inside the vehicle. Before she put her key in the ignition, Courtney said warmly, “I’m glad you came to me, Clay. You know…everyone has been really good about keeping it a secret. Not telling their parents and all.”

Clay stared at her uncomprehendingly. “Yeah. Well, obviously.”

“You haven’t told your parents, have you?”

“What—? No! Of course not. Why would you think that?”

The disbelief in his voice caused Courtney to relax. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Where would you like to go?”

Clay brought up the map on his phone and showed her the coordinates. If Courtney understood where he was taking her, she didn’t show it. The engine roared to life and Courtney pulled out of the parking lot. Clay peeked into the rearview mirror and spotted Tony’s car following them.

“I knew he was the one for the job,” said Hannah in satisfaction.

Clay rolled his eyes.

They arrived at the hilltop cemetery. Courtney’s fingers shook as she removed her keys. They stepped out of the car and walked in silence towards Hannah’s grave. Clay knew the way by heart. It wasn’t his first visit.

Courtney stared down at the dirt plot. “There’s no headstone.”

“She died suddenly. Headstones take a while to make.”

Courtney glanced around at the rolling green scenery. “It’s beautiful here.”

Clay looked at her, and his disgust leaked through his façade, and Courtney recoiled. “Yeah. I don’t think Hannah is all that happy to be buried in the place that’s home to her tormentors.”

“I’m not a tormentor, Clay,” said Courtney tightly.

“You told Monty lies about her. Crass lies that weren’t true. You knew her reputation was already torn and you just ripped it apart more,” snapped Clay. “To save your own skin. And now that she’s gone, you go around treating her death like some school activity. You treat her memorial like a project!”

“I am trying to help the school heal!”

Clay barked out a laugh. “The school doesn’t need to heal, Courtney! The school doesn’t give a damn about Hannah! What you’re doing now? It’s damage control. You and the rest of them trying to prove that you cared this whole time. That you didn’t have any part in this.”

“I didn’t!” cried Courtney. She took a quick, trembling breath. “Clay, I understand that Hannah was special to you. But this was Hannah’s choice.”

“There are reasons behind everyone’s choices,” said Clay softly. “And for Hannah, this choice had thirteen reasons behind it. You’re one of them. You couldn’t handle the thought of people thinking you’re gay, so you had to make people believe Hannah hit on you. Not the other way around.”

“You don’t get it,” said Courtney tearfully. “If people find out I’m gay, do you know what they’ll say? ‘Her dads are gay, that’s why she is the way she is.’ They’ve taken so much crap in their lives already, and I’ve had to deal with some of it too. I can’t do that to them.”

Clay pointed to the rectangular square of dirt. “You cared so much about what people thought of you, that you had no care left for what people would think of Hannah.”

Courtney started to sob. “I got scared, all right? I’m sorry! If I could take it back, I would! I’d tell Monty to screw right off. I’m so sorry.”

She started to weep and Hannah moved instinctively towards her, pausing when she realized that there was nothing she could do. “I forgive you,” Hannah said thickly, her eyes shining with both gratitude and grief. “I forgive you, Courtney.”

The tightness in Clay’s chest eased and he took a few unsteady breaths. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he said quietly. “It’s all she wanted to hear, too.”

With tears blurring her vision Courtney ran off, sobs trailing in the air behind her. Clay moved to sit heavily on the iron bench near Hannah’s grave, ignoring the crunching of gravel beneath wheels as Courtney sped off, leaving him behind.

“That was pretty harsh,” whispered Hannah, sitting beside him. “But thank you.”

“I just wanted her to feel something,” muttered Clay. “Rather than pretend she didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I sort of knew she felt bad, when I watched her listen to her tape.” Hannah fiddled with her fingers. “But it’s nice to hear that she really is sorry. I just wish it didn’t take such drastic measures for her to realize the impact of what she did.”

There was the sound of a trunk unlocking and they looked over to see Tony unloading Clay’s bike. “He really does care for you,” said Hannah softly.

Tony approached and Hannah vacated so he could sit down. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a cassette tape. For a heart stopping moment Clay thought it was one made by Hannah, before Tony said, “It’s the song you asked about earlier.”

“Oh.” Relief coursed through him and he accepted the plastic case. “Thanks. How did you undo the lock to my bike?”

“Old tricks,” said Tony dismissively. “I saw where you guys were heading. Figured you’d need a ride back.” He surveyed Hannah’s plot and the temporary marker. “This isn’t the sort of thing you do when you’re not ready, Clay. I saw Courtney driving out of here. She looked traumatized.”

Clay flinched. “I just want these guys to understand what they did to her.”

“I think some of them already do,” said Tony gently. “And even if they don’t…well, that’s on their souls, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” said Clay tiredly. The exhaustion was descending upon him. He was drained. “Listen, I’m going to head home.”

“You good to bike?”

“Yeah.”

“All right. Talk to me when you need me, Clay. I mean it.”

Tony stood and walked amongst the tombstones. As he drove away, Hannah peered at the tape Clay clutched in his hand. “He gave me one of those.”

“He did?” asked Clay in surprise.

“Yeah. My car wouldn’t start after the dance so Tony had to bail me out. He gave me a copy of the song we danced to. I listened to it, like, every day.”

Clay’s heart fluttered. “Do you want to listen to it now?”

Hannah smiled. “I’d love to.”

Clay dug the Walkman out of his bag. He yanked out the headphones and switched out the tapes. He cranked up the volume and pressed play.

_“Oooo-oooo-ooo. Oooo-oooo-ooo. Oooo-oooo-ooo. Oooo-oooo-ooo. I am not the only traveller, who has not repaid his debt.”_

Clay stood. Hannah stood with him.

His hands hovered at her waist. Her hands linked around his neck. They stared into each other’s eyes as they started to sway with the rhythm of the song. But the magic was gone, now, and they both knew it. Though the warmth still shone in their pupils as they regarded one another, the air was thick with melancholy. There was no reassuring body heat emitting from Hannah, only the coldness Clay could only figure was similar to a dead corpse. The longing and despair ran like an undercurrent between them, deeply hidden, but they ignored it. They lived in the moment, of being able to dance once more to their song, even if it was a moment half-formed.

Clay found himself imagining their first dance. He changed the event in his mind, pictured what he would do with the knowledge he had now. He would lean in and kiss her.

But the Hannah in front of him, with shining eyes that held great confliction and sadness, was merely a shadow of who she used to be. A soul without a body.

His own soul cried.

When the song came to a halt, they stepped away from each other. Hannah cleared her throat and looked away, her eyes purposefully ignoring her own grave. “That was nice,” she said sincerely, managing to keep the catch out of her voice.

“Yeah.” Clay shoved the Walkman back into his bag. Tears pricked his eyes and he furiously blinked them back. “Come on. We better get going.”

There was a solemn silence as Clay biked home, Hannah floating beside him. It was shattered by the blare of a car horn and Clay whipped his head around, staring at the silver car driving too close for his comfort.

It swung in a wide arc, cutting into the next lane and coming to a halt right in front of Clay. He hastily hit the brakes and watched nervously as Justin, Zach and Alex climbed out. None of them looked happy with him.

“Oh crap,” hissed Hannah.

“What the hell?” demanded Clay, climbing off his bike.

“We’re going for a ride,” said Justin with narrowed eyes.

“I don’t really want—”

“Don’t care,” cut in Zach shortly. He yanked Clay’s bike from his grasp and brought it over to the trunk, which Alex popped open.

“This is not good,” muttered Hannah.

“I’ll take you home, Clay,” said Alex. “We just want to talk. Get in.”

Fully aware that he was once again outnumbered, Clay reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat. The sun disappeared over the horizon by the time they reached the end of the street, covering the town in an inky black blanket.

Alex paused at a stop sign. Clay clenched his fingers together. “What are you guys doing?”

Alex turned off the headlights. Justin snickered.

Clay was thrown back as Alex slammed his foot against the gas pedal. The dial on the speedometer rapidly passed eighty.

“We know what you did to Courtney,” said Justin from the backseat.

“You call this talking?” Clay snapped at Alex.

The boy did not respond, his eyes locked dead ahead at the empty stretch of road. They were at a hundred now, which was way over the speed limit.

“Alex, slow down!”

“You really need to stop screwing with people, Clay,” said Justin mockingly.

Hannah was flying alongside the car, matching its growing speed. “Clay!” she shouted. “Brace yourself! Alex, too!”

“Brace myself to what?” Clay demanded.

“What?” said Zach in confusion. “Who are you talking to?”

Clay pressed back against the seat, one arm gripping the handle above the door and the other flying out to pin Alex against his own seat. “What the hell are you doing?” demanded Justin, grabbing Clay’s shoulder.

Hannah thrust out her hands. The car screeched to an abrupt halt. Justin and Zach screamed as they were thrown forwards, Justin’s head knocking against the soft material of Clay’s seat. Alex was kept from colliding with the steering wheel by Clay’s steel hold.

“Alex!” Justin shouted. “What are you doing?”

“It’s not me!” said Alex in panic. “I don’t know what’s happening!”

The car lock popped up. Clay undid his seatbelt and rolled out, dropping to the ground with a gasp. Hannah quickly shut the door and put the locks back into place, preventing the others from getting out. “Come on!”

She snapped her fingers and the trunk opened. Clay seized his bike and mounted it. He started pedalling like a madman, cutting across a grassy field and emerging into another section of street. His breath tore from his throat and his heart pounded madly in his chest.

“They’re psychos!” he rasped.

“Definitely,” said Hannah, her transparent form trembling. “I told you to be careful with them.”

“I didn’t think they’d do anything like _that_.”

Clay felt safe to slow his pace when he reached his neighbourhood. He tumbled off his bike when he reached his house and locked it up in the garage. “Thanks for the save,” he said. “Though I don’t know how I’m going to explain that one.”

“I couldn’t stand by and do nothing,” said Hannah. “We’re in this together. If I expose myself to them, well, what can they do to me?”

Clay walked through the front door to find the downstairs dark. He collapsed onto the couch and sank into the cushions. “Do you think Courtney told them to do that?”

“I don’t think so. But I am going to find out. Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Clay waved her off. “Go ahead. See what you can find out.”

Hannah walked through the living room wall and outside. Clay sat still for a moment before pulling the Walkman out of his bag. He played their song again, fully paying attention to the lyrics this time, and wanting to sob and laugh at how fitting they were.

He was on his third loop when the living room light snapped on. He quickly snatched off the headphones and blinked at his mother. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said softly. “What are you listening to?”

“A song that Tony gave me,” he answered. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.” Lainie sat on the couch beside her son and looked at him intently. “Do you know anything about kids getting bullied at your school?”

Clay frowned. “Why? Did someone call you?”

“No, nothing like that.” She took a slow breath and said, “I’m asking if you knew if Hannah Baker was bullied.”

“Why Hannah?” asked Clay, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

“My firm was hired today by the school to defend them in the lawsuit that the Bakers have filed.”

“I don’t understand. I thought the school board had their own lawyers?”

“They do. But for a lawsuit, they need litigators. Like me.”

_Well, that explains Courtney’s concern,_ Clay thought sourly. He didn’t know how much Courtney knew, but it was enough to have her worried that he had snitched, apparently.

“Isn’t there a conflict of interest? Because I’m your kid and I go to that school?”

“I think that’s one of the reasons why the partners asked me to take the case,” replied Lainie.

Clay tried to process this unexpected information. “You’re going to try to prove Hannah wasn’t bullied.”

Lainie shook her head. “Not exactly. The school’s position is that they didn’t know about any bullying, and they would have stopped it if they had.”

“And you believe that’s true?” asked Clay skeptically.

“I believe we’ll find out,” said Lainie carefully. “Are you okay with that?”

_No._

“Sure. Fine.” Clay shrugged.

“Do you have anything to tell me? About bullying?” asked Lainie gently.

Clay took a slow, deep breath. “Look, Mom. It’s a high school. Of course there’s bullying.”

Lainie straightened. “Did they bully Hannah?”

_Yes._

“There was this picture that got circulated around the school, of her on a slide at a playground, and people said stuff. And someone created a hot list that got passed around too. Hannah didn’t appreciate either of those things, obviously.”

“Do you know who was behind the photo or the list?”

“No. I don’t.” It was the same story he told Mrs. Baker. “Sorry.”

Lainie squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. Thank you, for being honest with me. Is there anything else you want to say? Maybe about Hannah?”

_There’s so much I can’t tell you._

But there was one thing he could.

“I lied to you, before,” he whispered. “When I said Hannah and I weren’t close. We were. She was my best friend. I loved her. And…and it was easier to pretend otherwise, but it’s not easy anymore. I miss her so much, Mom.”

The ache in his chest grew exponentially. He missed hugging her and feeling her hand on his shoulder. He mourned the loss of her life and the future they could not have together. Suddenly their dance in the graveyard seemed morbid and hollow and he started to cry.

Lainie immediately pulled him into an embrace, tucking her chin against his head. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” She rocked him back and forth, rubbing circles into his back. “I won’t take the case.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Clay thickly, his head buried against her shoulder. “I just don’t really want to get involved, you know?”

“I’ll do my best,” said Lainie, stroking her fingers through her son’s hair. “But some things are out of my control. I’ll warn you if they need to talk to you about her, okay?”

“Okay.”

They stayed cuddled together on the couch for a long moment. Clay felt like he was six again, with few worries in the world, protected by his mother’s hold.

“I’m going to make you a hot chocolate,” said Lainie, pulling away. “Do you want some food?”

“Just a hot chocolate is good,” said Clay softly, rubbing at his eyes.

Lainie grabbed a blanket and tucked it around him. She held Clay’s chin and said softly, “Thank you for being honest, Clay. But please, talk to us more about how you’re feeling. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I know. It’s just…hard to talk about her, sometimes.”

“I’d love to hear about her,” said Lainie gently. “The Hannah _you_ knew.”

The Hannah he knew. Not the Hannah the school blamed. Not the Hannah the students slandered.

“Maybe one day,” he agreed. “Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

Lainie hugged him tightly. “I love you too, sweetie. More than anything. Let me get you that hot chocolate.”

She went into the kitchen and Clay clutched the blanket to his body. Another weight was demolished and he felt his whole body go lax as the anxiety roiling through him suddenly eased. He didn’t know what he would tell his parents about Hannah. He didn’t know if it had been a good idea to tell his mother about the photo Justin had taken or the hot list Alex had a hand in creating.

But he did know he felt better. It was only a smidgen of peace, but he wasn’t in complete darkness.

And that, he was realizing, made it a bit easier to see the light ahead.


	9. Valentine

It was after one in the morning when Hannah returned. She walked through the second-floor exterior wall and Clay, who waited up for her, quickly sat up. “Did you find out anything?” he asked.

“Courtney did tell them about you taking her to the graveyard. But she had no idea about the traumatize-you-by-breaking-every-speed-limit plan. I snooped through Alex’s phone while he was in the shower.”

Clay frowned. “You can look through people’s phones?”

“Yeah. It’s part of my whole manipulate solid objects and technology thing I got going on,” replied Hannah. She lowered to hover just above the mattress, her legs stretched out before her. “They’re totally freaking out.”

“Do they know about you?” asked Clay sharply.

“Heck no. They’re not big believers in ghosts, apparently. But they do think you had something to do with it.”

“How?”

Hannah grinned at his mystified tone. “They’re really grasping at straws. They think you sabotaged Alex’s car.”

“Oh, right, because I’m obviously an automobile genius,” said Clay flatly. “Am I going to have to worry about them running me over the next time I see them?”

“You’re definitely going to have to be careful.”

“You’ve only told me that a thousand times.”

“It’s true, and I feel like it’s important enough to keep repeating. But no, they didn’t make plans to pummel you or anything. I left when Alex fell asleep, and I’m pretty sure Justin and Zack wouldn’t exclude him from the conversation.”

Clay gave a slow nod. “All right. What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Play dumb,” suggested Hannah. “They don’t have an explanation, so why should you?”

“I feel like that’s easier said then done,” said Clay dubiously. “There’s no way they’re going to let this go.”

Hannah shrugged. “They will if you’re convincing enough.”

“Not comforted,” muttered Clay. “I think I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

“Being scared half to death by idiots wielding a high-speed vehicle as an intimidation tactic will do that,” agreed Hannah. “Night, Clay.”

“Good night, Hannah.”

Clay turned over and yanked his blankets over his body. For a long moment he stared at the wall, a hard knot forming in his stomach as he dreaded the next tape and his mind screaming at him that he was next, before the blackness of slumber finally had mercy on him.

…

“No bike today?” asked Hannah as she followed Clay down the sidewalk.

The volume was low enough on the cassette player to allow the teen to hear her. He shook his head. “Wanted to listen a bit before school,” he said. “I’ve proven that it’s probably not a good idea for me to do that while also riding a bike.”

Hannah gave a hum of acknowledgement, not wanting to interrupt further. They moved in silence, with Hannah watching the cars pass them by, and peering up at the birds chirping ahead. It was strange, to know that the world continued to move forwards while she was stuck in a timeless existence. It evoked a feeling she could not identify, a feeling that unsettled her. It wasn’t regret, but melancholy. A sadness she couldn’t pinpoint.

They walked along the tall, chain-link fence that bordered the property of Liberty High, lining the street that led to the school’s parking lot and tennis courts. Clay didn’t pay his surroundings any attention, lost in Hannah’s narration of her last Valentine’s Day.

_“And, as I filled mine out, I realized I was actually describing a certain someone. You’d think if my answers all described one person, that person would at least appear in my Top Five. But no.”_

And suddenly, inexplicably, he remembered the glances Hannah had cast him that February, in the week leading up to Valentine’s Day. His heart had fluttered with each stare he caught, even as anxiety had twisted his chest, wondering why she had been looking at him.

Was he the one she had been thinking of? Was that why she had been staring at him that week? Or was he just so desperate that he was connecting dots that didn’t exist to begin with?

His lips parted. The words formed on his tongue. His courage shriveled. His lips closed.

He couldn’t. No matter what Hannah’s answer was, it would crush him. It didn’t matter now, anyway. He was on the tapes. If Hannah had ever had feelings for him, he surely destroyed them when he failed her.

“What the heck is going on?!”

Hannah’s shout distracting him from his inner turmoil, Clay yanked off his headphones and switched off the cassette player. A massive crowd of students was gathered in the middle of the street, cheering and whistling.

“Come on,” said Clay urgently.

He rushed forwards and pushed his way through the circular formation. Hannah floated above, her eyes growing wide at the sight of Monty and Alex fighting viciously in the center of their audience. Blood ran from Alex’s lip and his eye was black. Amongst the sea of adolescent faces, there were only a few whose features seemed to stand out in stark clarity.

Jessica. Courtney. Zach. Marcus. Tyler. Justin.

They were staring at Alex, watching Monty beat his face in, blood splattering across the tarmac. Marcus and Zach’s expressions were strained, Justin’s was helpless, Tyler’s was blank as he raised his camera, and Jessica and Courtney looked like they were numb from the inside out.

And there was Clay, his face pinched with horror, and Hannah screwed her eyes shut.

They were falling apart. That had not been her intention.

“Stop!” she cried, flinging out her hand.

It was coincidence that Alex’s knee met Monty’s stomach at the same time. Monty flew backwards, slamming into the concrete. Clay darted forwards. He hovered over Alex, gingerly wiping the blood from his cheek.

“Get out of the way, Clay!” barked Monty. “Unless you want to join him.”

“Mr. Porter’s coming!” called Hannah.

“Mr. Porter’s coming,” echoed Clay tonelessly.

Monty’s aggression eased. “What?”

Porter broke through the gathered students, his eyes taking in the state of Alex and Monty in one instant. He whirled on Monty and demanded, “What’s going on here?”

“Alex started it,” snapped Monty, idly reaching up to rub his bruised cheek.

“Yeah? And what were you doing?”

Monty smirked. “Finishing it, I guess.”

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” snapped Porter. “With me. Clay, take Alex to the nurse. I’ll be there shortly. As for the rest of you, get back to class.”

The students grumbled and slowly dispersed. Porter grabbed Monty by the arm and lugged him in the direction of the school. Clay bent down and grasped Alex by the shoulders. “Come on.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dude, you are not fine.”

He wrapped his arms around Alex and lifted. The teen swayed to the side and Clay stumbled slightly under his weight. He braced his feet against the ground and Alex sagged against him. Clay could feel a warm liquid dripping down the side of his face and he grimaced.

Courtney and Tyler had scurried into the school along with most of the other students. Jessica sent Justin a concerned look, but he waved her on. Making direct eye-contact, Clay asked, “You want to help, Justin?”

Eyes narrowing slightly, Justin said, “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll come too,” said Zach quickly.

Hannah frowned at Clay. “You sure this is a good idea?”

Clay gave a short nod in answer to her question. Marcus regarded them. “Do I need to come with you guys?” he asked.

There was suspicion in his voice but Justin ignored it. “No. We’re good.”

Justin supported Alex’s other side and Zach retrieved Alex’s backpack. Together they moved at a slow but steady pace towards the school. Alex was mostly being dragged, though he tried a few steps here and there.

“How did you know Porter was there?” asked Zach with a frown.

“I saw him,” lied Clay. “When I walked up. His car was just pulling into the parking lot. I figured he would show up soon enough, but I didn’t know it would be at that exact moment. I just wanted to slow Monty down. How’re you feeling, Alex?”

“Like crap,” said Alex thickly. Blood was still running from his nose. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You put yourself in front of Monty. After what I did to you.”

Clay sent Justin a cold glare. “I have a feeling it wasn’t your idea.”

“Look, man, we were just trying to scare you, okay?” snapped Justin. “You’re out of control.”

“ _I’m_ out of control?” said Clay in disbelief.

“Yes! You’re asking too many freaking questions, and the crap you pulled on Courtney? What the hell was that?”

“That’s between her and I,” said Clay stiffly. “If she won’t tell you why I took her to Hannah’s grave, that’s not my problem. I’m not the one kidnapping people and starting fights in the middle of the street. What happened?”

“Monty was being an asshole. Like usual,” muttered Alex. “He ticked me off.”

“We all need to just chill, okay?” spoke Zach. “If Clay promises to keep his mouth shut and Alex doesn’t lose it again, we’ll all be fine.”

“I don’t get you guys,” said Clay in exasperation. “Before Hannah made these tapes, none of you ever bothered to properly speak with me. Now I’m apparently your number one enemy. Are you forgetting I’m on these tapes too? Why the hell would I want to tell people they exist?”

The silence that descended was none that Clay had ever experienced before. It felt like the air was about to explode, it was wound tight with tension and stress and agitation. Alex made a gurgling, sarcastic laughing sound and Justin glared down at him.

“Shut it,” he hissed. “What I need from you, Clay, is to just listen to the rest of the tapes, send them on, and leave all of us the hell alone.”

“I don’t think you deserve to ask for anything, Justin,” said Clay.

They arrived inside the school, with students packed shoulder to shoulder, leaving Justin unable to respond. He simmered in silence; his jaw clenched. “Can you at least fix my car?” muttered Alex.

Clay blinked down at him. “What?”

“His car. What did you do to it?” asked Zach warily. “Mess with the brakes or something?”

“No! What’s wrong with you people?” demanded Clay. “Why would I target Alex’s car? If I had known you were going to take me for a lightspeed joyride, I wouldn’t have been that far out of town alone to begin with.”

“But you said something weird,” pressed Zach. “You said ‘brace myself to what?’, when none of us said anything.”

“I was talking to myself. Thought that somehow bracing myself would save me when Alex screwed up and crashed the freaking car.”

“You braced Alex. Not us,” said Justin accusingly.

“Yeah, ‘cause he was sitting next to me,” said Clay flatly.

“But cars don’t do things like that,” said Zach in bafflement. “It just… _stopped_. Alex didn’t even hit the brakes. And the trunk popping open…and the door locks…it was like…”

“The car was possessed?” asked Clay with a straight face.

Hannah, who had been following the group as they moved across school property, snorted.

“It was just messed up, okay? And you seemed to know it was going to happen.”

“I didn’t know,” said Clay calmly. “I thought Alex was giving me an out. So I took it. I didn’t do anything to your car.”

“What about Tony?” asked Justin suspiciously.

“I’m not entirely sure what you think mechanics do, but they don’t have the ability to make cars do the things Alex’s car did,” returned Clay. “I don’t know what to tell you guys. Yeah, it was freaking weird. I don’t know what happened. But it wasn’t me. It wasn’t Tony. I think Alex needs to look into getting a new vehicle for his own personal safety.”

They reached the nurse’s office and Clay let go of Alex. He moved backwards down the hall, staring directly at Justin, who regarded him with distrust. “I’m sure you can take it from here. I gotta get to class.”

He spun on his heel and merged with the flow of students. His heart hammered against his rib cage and he suddenly found himself struggling to breathe. “How was that?” he managed to get out.

“That was stellar,” said Hannah, impressed. “I didn’t know you had such a good poker face.”

“I’m not really emotionally expressive, so it’s not hard.”

“Thanks for interfering.”

“That was you,” corrected Clay. “Monty would have thrown me to the side if you didn’t tell me Mr. Porter was coming.”

“I don’t think I can be physically ill anymore, but if there’s a ghost equivalent to that, that’s what I was feeling,” said Hannah. “It was horrible. I thought Monty might kill him.”

“Yeah,” said Clay softly. “Me too.”

Droplets of ruby red splattering against the tarmac. Alex’s lifeless eyes. His limp body. The twitch of his limbs as he tried to muster the strength to fight back.

Bile rose in his throat. His vision blackened at the edges. His chest caved in.

Clay sprinted for the nearest door. He could hear Hannah calling after him but it was muddled roar in his ears. He shoved past students blocking his way and burst outside, the fresh air practically slapping him in the face. He stumbled to the nearest bench and sat down, burying his face in his hands.

_In and out. In and out. Come on, Jensen, get it together._

“Clay? Are you okay?”

Clay raised his eyes, meeting Sheri’s worried stare. “Did you see that?” he asked hoarsely.

Sheri shook her head, lowering to sit beside him. “Couldn’t watch. I can’t believe some people. They can be complete assholes.”

“The school is full of them,” muttered Clay, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Definitely,” concurred Sheri. “Except for you.”

 _I think Hannah might disagree._ “And you,” said Clay.

Sheri smiled. “Thank you, Clay. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. Did you ever finish that essay for Miss Cusak?”

“The one due tomorrow?” asked Clay with a furrowed brow.

Sheri’s eyes widened. “Wait, I thought it was due next week?”

“Nope.”

“Crap!” Sheri jumped to her feet. “Then I should really get to the library.”

“I…I could help you finish your paper, if you want?” mumbled Clay.

Sheri’s face lit up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I used to be a peer tutor.” His heart lurched at the thought of Jeff. “We could work on it after school, if you want. At Monet’s?”

“That would be amazing!” said Sheri happily. “Thank you so much, Clay.”

She leaned forwards and kissed Clay on the cheek before darting off. Clay stood stock still, frozen with shock, and the warmth of her lips on his skin lingering.

“That’s nice,” said Hannah lightly, coming up behind him. “Did she help you feel better?”

“A bit,” said Clay honestly.

Hannah tried to keep her jealousy from showing. It was irrational. There was nothing to be jealous about. “I’m glad,” she said, hoping she sounded sincere. “The bell rings in twenty minutes. What do you want to do?”

Clay dug out the Walkman. “Listen to more of the next tape.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hannah uncertainly. “I don’t think you’re in a good mental space for it.”

Clay’s eyebrow lifted. “Wow. I didn’t realize I was in a good mental space for the previous ones.”

“You just almost had a breakdown.”

“Yeah, because of the fight. It freaked me out. But I’m fine now.”

He stubbornly put on his headphones and turned the volume up to full. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back as the tape picked up from where he had left off.

It did not come as a surprise when he learned Marcus was the subject—he had been expecting Liberty’s top male academic to appear at some point, thanks to Marcus’ own confession. But he couldn’t fathom what Marcus had done. The familiar jealousy rose as he listened to Hannah describe her conversation with Marcus when he had asked her out for Valentine’s Day.

He remembered Hannah asking him, at the Crestmont, if he had done the Dollar Valentine. He had lied to her, for reasons he still didn’t understand. She had been on his list. The number one result, even with Jeff’s fabricated answers to the survey.

Was that why? Had he thought he didn’t deserve to ask her out when his answers had not been his own? Had he thought it was unfair to say he matched with her when it wasn’t entirely the truth?

And it had been obvious she hadn’t matched with him, not when Bryce Walker had been her first choice. But there had been a moment where that did not matter. When Hannah had told him Marcus wasn’t her first choice.

And that stare. That fleeting, probing, glimpse of eye-contact, where they both had hoped to see what the other was thinking clearly displayed in each other’s eyes.

The moment had been ruined by Jeff’s unfortunate timing and big mouth. The atmosphere between them had soured slightly and he ran his mouth off further, saying he had no decent matches. Hannah had studied him and mentioned she ought to call Marcus to accept his offer of a Valentine’s date.

Maybe she had been giving him a chance. There was something about the way she had said, “It can be easy,” that caused Clay’s stomach to curl with regret.

He could not say he didn’t have opportunities. Because that was a lie even he would not dare to make.

Clay listened as Hannah recollected her date with Marcus. His fists clenched. Anger burned in his veins.

_“I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get up or leave or scream. Anything would have been better than sitting there thinking that somehow this was my fault. Thinking I’d be alone for the rest of my life. But through it all, you want to believe there are good guys in the world. I knew there were. I believed it.”_

The tape ended with crackling static and Clay ripped off his headphones. “He…he’s an asshole,” croaked Clay. “He’s the worst.”

“He is,” said Hannah bitterly.

Clay shoved the Walkman into his bag, his hands trembling. “It’s not your fault,” he said fiercely. “None of it is your fault.”

“Thank you, Clay,” whispered Hannah.

She leaned forwards and embraced him. And though he couldn’t cling to her, couldn’t feel the warmth of her body, he let her unique coldness wash over him and hoped his own body heat provided just as much comfort.

He didn’t care how he looked, sitting in the middle of the courtyard with his arms around someone no one else could see. But no one paid him any attention, just like they usually did. They were disturbed from their hug by the bell and they eased away from each other.

“School,” grumbled Hannah. “Always ruining everything.”

They traversed through the halls and towards his first class of the day. But when he stepped foot into the room his teacher approached him, thrusting out a note. “Emergency Honour Board meeting,” he said. “Right now, in the library.”

“Uh…okay,” said Clay in bewilderment. “Thanks.”

He took the note and started for his instructed destination. “I don’t think I knew you were on the Honour Board,” said Hannah accusingly. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Not exactly a point of pride for me,” said Clay with a shrug. “I only took the position when they offered it because I knew my parents would have wanted me to.”

“Has an emergency meeting ever happened before?”

“Nope.”

“It’s about Alex and Monty’s fight, isn’t it?”

“Well, the cheating and minor theft cases we usually deal with never resulted with ‘emergency’ status before.”

“Yuck, you have to deal with all that?”

“Like I said. Not a point of pride.”

They arrived in the library, where the other members were already gathered. Sheri smiled at Clay as he entered but Courtney pointedly avoided looking at him. They sat at a long table situated across from Monty and Alex. Alex’s face was completely black and blue and one eye was swollen shut. Clay took his seat at the very end and Hannah stood beside him.

“Okay, this emergency meeting of the Honour Board is called to order,” announced Marcus as he entered the library. He lowered into his seat at the head of the table and Clay looked at him out of the corner of his eye, his jaw clenching.

“Of course he’s in charge,” said Hannah with a roll of her eyes. “Wonder how he got the job over Courtney.”

“By marginally higher grades,” said Clay under his breath.

“Marcus Cole, presiding. Courtney Crimson, recording secretary. All members present. Petitioners, please state your names.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped. “No. You actually treat it like a court case! Oh my gosh!”

Clay’s cheeks turned red. He picked up his pen and hurriedly scribbled out a message.

**_Please shut up_ **

“No way. This is gold. I can see why you never told me about this,” said Hannah with a laugh.

When Monty and Alex did not speak, Marcus prodded, “Petitioners. That’s you guys.”

With bored tones, Monty and Alex stated their full names. Marcus nodded and continued. “So Montgomery, this case seems pretty straight forward. You were the one driving.”

“So?” Monty scoffed.

“So the pedestrian has the right of way.”

“That’s the law,” chimed in Courtney.

“You were walking when he almost hit you?” Marcus directed at Alex.

“Yeah. Heroji Pratt, Chase Parker and Jin-seo Yoon too.”

“He’s the one who acted like a psycho,” said Monty in annoyance. “He went freaking feral.”

“Knock it off,” interjected Porter sharply, who was observing the proceedings with the vice-principal.

“You were driving recklessly, Monty,” said Courtney firmly.

Marcus nodded. “Your actions could have killed somebody. It’s our job to protect the students of this school.”

In unison, Clay, Hannah and Alex gave a derisive scoff. Marcus’ eyes snapped briefly over to Clay whose gaze remained on his notebook as he doodled little cartoons. Marcus’ attention was returned to Alex when he said mockingly, “Protecting the students at this school, huh? You make that a priority, Marcus?”

“That’s the point of the Honour Board,” said Marcus calmly.

“Riiiiiight,” drawled Alex. “Because all of you are just so honourable.”

“Go Alex,” said Hannah with a grin.

“We’re giving you two a chance, Alex,” said Porter. “Because this fight happened off-campus, the matter can be taken to the police.”

“Go ahead,” said Alex immediately. “In fact, I can call them right now.”

“It’s not necessary to drag the police into this,” said Courtney tightly. “A crime hasn’t been committed.”

“I don’t know, Courtney. I feel like the police would be pretty freaking upset if some guy ploughed into the pedestrian walkway at the main intersection with the intent to frighten,” returned Alex angrily. “They wouldn’t let the matter get swept under the rug. But that’s what we’re doing here, isn’t it? This school doesn’t give a damn what people do so long as no one finds out about it.”

“Alex, that is not true,” said Child.

“This is no one’s fault, Alex, okay?” insisted Courtney. “It just happened.”

“Oh, no, it did not just happen,” piped up Monty. “Alex lost his freaking mind.”

“Yeah, sure, blame it on me,” said Alex, throwing his hands in the air. “Whatever. It’s all my fault. I’ll take some responsibility. It’s more than anyone else in this school has ever done.”

Clay finally looked up. Through the dried blood and heavy bruising, there was a fire in Alex’s eyes. Courtney fiddled with her pencil and she said, “If Alex admits fault—”

“It doesn’t matter what Alex says,” interjected Marcus, shooting Courtney a warning look.

“What do you mean? It’s totally his fault,” protested Monty.

“No, it was your fault,” snapped Marcus, glaring at the jock.

“It wasn’t his fault,” snapped Alex.

“Maybe,” said Clay loudly, “you’re all at fault.”

The room went silent as everyone turned to stare at him. Smacking his pencil against his notebook, Clay regarded Monty, Alex, Courtney and Marcus with annoyance. “Maybe you’re all equally to blame. Have any of you ever thought of that?”

He felt Marcus’ eyes burning into him. But he returned his attention to his notebook, shading in his cartoon bunny. He didn’t join the conversation outlining Montgomery’s punishment, and only spoke up when his approval was needed for the unanimous vote. Monty was suspended for three school days while Alex was let off with a warning.

Furious, Alex stood up and glowered at Marcus. “You absolute hypocrite.”

He stormed out with Porter and Child watching after him, worry in their eyes. One by one they departed, to return to their normal school day, until only Clay and Marcus remained.

“What the hell was that about?” asked Marcus lightly.

“What was what?” asked Clay.

“’Maybe you’re all equally to blame’. What was that about?”

“As a member of the Honour Board, I stated my opinion. Yeah, Monty is an asshole. But it wouldn’t have escalated if Alex didn’t start the fight. And Monty wouldn’t feel like he owned the freaking school if the staff didn’t let him and his friends run wild.”

“Clay, this isn’t the time to cause trouble.”

Clay leaned back so he could stare fully at Marcus. “I’m not the one brawling in the middle of the street.”

“No, you’re not, but you keep saying crap that could make people suspicious,” snapped Marcus. “We don’t need people to start asking questions. If those tapes get out—”

“They find out what a selfish, entitled asshole you really are,” said Clay, standing up and flinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Marcus straightened, his legs knocking into his chair in his haste. “Hannah is a liar,” he said sharply.

Clay grinned—the coldness of it made Marcus take an unconscious step back. “No. The rest of you are the liars. So desperate to keep people from finding out how cruel you can really be, and to prevent your reputations from being as broken as you made Hannah’s. But you’re in luck—Hannah didn’t want the tapes released to the public. It was a last resort, a punishment if we didn’t do as she said. I will honour her final wishes. So do me a favour, Marcus—keep the hell away from me.”

He strode out of the library, breathing heavily. Hannah looked at him with awe. “Wow. I…I didn’t know you could be so bold.”

“I didn’t either,” Clay confessed.

Hannah looked at the notebook he had tucked under one arm. “Your cartoons are really good,” she said softly.

“Thanks,” mumbled Clay. “But they’re nothing special.”

Hannah gave a soft smile. _I disagree._ “So,” she spoke, “is this the most exciting Honour Board meeting you’ve ever had?”

“Oh, definitely.”

…

The rest of the day passed by and Clay was reminded of his promise to Sheri when he found her waiting for him by his locker. They walked to Monet’s and claimed a table, piling their books and paper onto the surface.

“You know, I’m really glad I don’t have to worry about homework,” remarked Hannah. “It sucks.”

“Thanks for helping me with this,” said Sheri gratefully.

“It’s no problem. You want a drink?”

“A double mocha with extra little chocolate sprinkles please.”

“Sure.”

“That’s a very cheerleadery drink,” said Hannah as they walked up to the counter.

“That is not a word. But very fitting.”

“How may I help you, sir?” drawled Skye when he neared.

“Hey, Skye. Uh, an iced-tea lemonade and a double mocha with extra little chocolate sprinkles.”

She looked over Clay’s shoulder, where Sheri was typing on her phone as she waited for him. “Right.” She went over to the coffee machine and started making the mocha. “You date cheerleaders now?”

Clay stared blankly at her. “What?”

“Do you and Carrie have your dates at Abercrombie?”

“Sheri. And, uh…no,” said Clay, lost.

“I didn’t think you were the cheerleader type, that’s all.”

“One, we’re not dating,” said Clay in annoyance. “Two, just because she’s a cheerleader doesn’t mean she’s not a good person. She’s nice.”

Hannah bit down on her bottom lip and averted her eyes. Clay didn’t notice. Skye raised a brow. “So you only like nice girls?”

“I wouldn’t want to date a mean one,” said Clay in confusion.

“Right. Of course you wouldn’t.” Skye smiled tightly as she finished making the drinks. “Still, I was hoping you’d be cooler than a Sheri.”

“Okay, whatever,” said Clay in bafflement, leaving a bill on the counter. “Keep the change. Thanks, I guess.”

He took the drinks over to the table. For the first fifteen minutes he helped Sheri plot out the points of her essay. He was distracted from her when the door chimed and he instinctively looked over, his breath catching in his throat when Tony and another guy walked in together. Tony met his gaze for a brief moment before moving to a table in the back of the café.

He and Tony were in a very strange place in their relationship. Clay still couldn’t shake the notion that Tony was intentionally following him and it unnerved him. “Do you want to work somewhere else?” he asked Sheri. “Somewhere a little quieter?”

“Sure,” said Sheri. “You live nearby, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it okay if we work at your house?”

“That’s fine. I’ll meet you outside.”

Sheri gathered her stuff and exited the café. Clay walked over to Tony and raised a brow. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Well, it is the only decent coffee place in town,” returned Tony. “You still working on that justice crusade of yours?”

“Maybe.” Clay shrugged. “Or maybe I’m sick of dealing with screwed up people. So just in case you do happen to be following me, don’t. I’m good.”

“I’m not following you,” said Tony patiently. “I’m having coffee with Brad here.”

A dark-haired teen approached with two mugs. “Hey.”

“Hey,” said Clay, blinking. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Bye.”

“Clay, he’s not following you,” said Hannah in exasperation.

“He’s not proving his case,” said Clay as he headed for the door.

“You’re just paranoid.”

“Obviously.”

He joined up with Sheri and together they walked to his place. When he stepped into the front hall and found his mother at her desk, surprise flooded his features. “Mom. What are you doing home?”

“Figured it’s time I started bringing work home with me. I’ve got some late nights ahead of me.” Lainie smiled warmly at Sheri. “Hi, Sheri.”

“Hi, Mrs. Jensen,” she chirped.

“We’re going to work on an English paper in my room,” said Clay.

“Sure. Just leave the door open.”

Humiliation swelled within Clay. “ _Yes,_ Mom, fine.”

They jogged up the stairs and entered his room. He dropped into his computer chair and Sheri settled on the floor by his bed. “It’s nice your parents are together,” she commented.

“Yeah. I think the bond they share is their enjoyment of embarrassing me,” muttered Clay.

“Wish that had been enough to keep mine together,” said Sheri wistfully.

“It’s weird to me, promising to love another forever, and then not doing it,” said Clay, staring out the window thoughtfully. “Like, shouldn’t love be an eternal thing? Not something that fades away?”

“I don’t know,” said Sheri. “But if someone can fall in love in the first place, I think that’s pretty great.”

“Yeah,” said Clay softly, returning his attention to her. “Yeah, that’s true, I guess.”

“I didn’t really read this all the way through,” said Sheri, picking up her copy of the book. “I might need some help finding the evidence I need for my essay points.”

“Sure.”

He joined her on the floor and looked at her first point. He started flipping through the pages as Sheri readied her pencil. Shivers ran down her spine and she asked, “Have you found it to be, like, super cold lately?”

Clay exchanged a brief, amused glance with Hannah. “Not really.”

For a few hours they poured through the book and elaborated upon Sheri’s notes. When she got the full gist of the story, Sheri said, “I think the fact he gives everything he’s ever worked for up for this girl is romantic.”

“Yeah, but she is the boss’ daughter. Being with her would be dangerous.”

“But he still does it anyway,” said Sheri with a sigh.

“He falls in love with her.”

Sheri leaned closer to Clay; her head tilted slightly. Clay’s heartrate increased as the scent of her perfume encased him. “Does she fall in love with him?” she asked quietly before joining his lips with hers.

For a moment, Clay returned the kiss. But there was an emptiness in his chest he could not ignore, an absence of enthusiasm and want. He abruptly leaned back and scooted a pace away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But I can’t.”

“You’re thinking about Hannah, aren’t you?” asked Sheri, devastated.

“No,” lied Clay. “I just…I just don’t like you like that, and it’s not fair to make you think otherwise.”

He remembered his first kiss with Hannah. The sparks and fireworks, things he once thought to be an exaggeration of how a kiss felt, were real. With Sheri, he felt nothing. He would not pretend he did.

“You’re a great guy, Clay,” said Sheri, tears welling in her eyes. “Not like me.”

“What do you mean?” asked Clay in confusion. “You’re a good person.”

“I’m not,” whispered Sheri with a sob. “I hoped that if you got to know me, really know me, before you listened to my tape, you would see that I’m not that person.”

“You’re on the tapes?”

The shock in his tone caused Sheri to falter. “You…you didn’t know?”

“I just finished Marcus’,” said Clay blankly, his brain struggling to process this unexpected piece of information. Of all the kids in his school, he would never have thought Sheri had done something to Hannah.

Sheri hunched over; her hands folded anxiously in front of her. “I did something that I didn’t mean to do, but it’s horrible and I did do it,” she said brokenly. “It would destroy me if you heard what was on my tape.”

“What did you do?” asked Clay stiffly.

“It’s over,” said Sheri desperately. “Nothing can be done about it. I just want you to—”

“Skip your tape?” demanded Clay, springing to his feet. “Pass them on? Ignore them? Just like everyone else wants me to do? Is that you’ve been so nice to me lately? Is that why you actually started having conversations with me? Why you kissed me?”

“No, Clay—”

“It doesn’t matter,” interrupted Clay, his voice like ice. “Because before the tapes, you barely said three words to me in a day. Just like the others. Leave, Sheri.”

With tears streaming down her cheeks, Sheri seized her bag and ran out of the room. Her steps pounded on the stairs and Clay collapsed on his bed, burying his face in his hands.

“She _is_ on the tapes.”

Hannah flinched. “I couldn’t tell you when you asked. You know that.”

“There’s a difference between couldn’t and wouldn’t.”

“Clay—”

“Whatever,” said Clay in exhaustion. He lifted his head, and Hannah hated that she was the reason his eyes were dull. “I’ve been getting used to people trying to use me for something.”

The light from the hallway was blocked as Lainie entered the doorway. Concern filled her voice as she asked, “What happened, honey?”

“Nothing,” said Clay numbly.

“I know that’s not true,” said Lainie softly. She sat down in his computer chair, fully facing him. “Talk to me, Clay.”

“I’m just…I feel so lost,” he whispered. “I don’t know who my friends are anymore. I miss Hannah so much. We could talk about anything and I didn’t feel awkward or weird about it.”

Lainie reached over and grasped his hands. “What about Tony?”

“I’m not really talking to him right now.”

“Did you have a fight?”

“Kind of, yeah. I just feel like he’s not telling me something, so I can’t trust him.”

Lainie weighed her words carefully for a minute. “Sometimes people feel they have secrets that they need to keep, that they don’t feel comfortable sharing. Do you think it’s a bad secret?”

“No.”

“I’m sure Tony would never do anything to hurt you. You’ve been friends for a long time. And I know no one could ever replace Hannah, but it’s important to talk to your friends just as it’s important to talk to your parents.”

“I know,” said Clay tiredly. “It’s just been a rough time.”

“I know.” Lainie leaned forwards and hugged him. “And I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about feeling awkward about talking to us, Clay. We won’t ever judge you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She eased back and studied him intently. “And just to be clear, you’re not upset with me taking the case?”

“I wouldn’t say upset,” mumbled Clay. “It’s just…have you ever once thought that I might be the bully?”

“Of course not,” said Lainie strongly. “You’re a good kid, Clay. You would never be a bully.”

_How wrong you are, Mom._

“I’m really tired. I’m gonna go to bed.”

Lainie reluctantly stood up. “If you need to talk through the night—”

“Mom, I’m fine,” interjected Clay, even as his chest squeezed painfully and sadness encompassed his heart. “Seriously.”

“I just…I just want you to tell me if me taking the school’s case upsets you,” pressed Lainie. “I’ll drop it. But I want to know why. I want to help you.”

“I know, Mom. You don’t have to worry.”

“I’m your mother,” said Lainie softly, gently stroking Clay’s cheek. “I’ll always worry.”

“Yeah. Good night.”

“Good night, sweetie.”

She kissed his forehead and departed the room, leaving the door open behind her. Clay didn’t bother to shut it, sinking into his bed. Hannah hesitated for a moment before lying beside him, her transparent arm fading slightly into his.

There was only one thing she could think to say. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears clogging her voice.

“We’ll get through this,” said Clay bracingly, even as the thought of the rest of the tapes made him want to sob. “Together.”

“Together,” whispered Hannah.


	10. Letter

For obvious reasons, Clay did not sleep well at all that night. When morning came, he gave up and straggled out of bed before his alarm even went off. Disturbed by his movements Hannah roused, watching as he grabbed some clothes and ducked into the closet to change.

When he came out, snug in a hoodie and jeans, she pretended not to notice the faint bags under his eye. “How’s your cut doing?” she asked, eyeing the thick red gash that had long since dried over with blood. It was surrounded with a dark bruise and Clay had recently stopped covering it with a bandage.

“Slowly healing. People keep asking me what happened.”

Hannah’s lips twitched. “Did you tell them you got hurt from falling off your bike?”

“No,” said Clay flatly. “I don’t need to give them more ammo to ridicule me with.”

They went downstairs and found his parents in the kitchen. “Good morning, honey,” said Lainie, still flushed from her morning jog. “Your dad is almost done making breakfast.”

“I’m good,” said Clay, who didn’t have much of an appetite. “I’m going to head to school.”

“It’s pretty early for that, isn’t it?” asked Matt.

Clay shrugged. “Maybe. But I thought I would take my time on my walk over.”

“I haven’t made your lunch yet,” protested Lainie.

“That’s okay. I’ll just buy it. See you later.”

He stepped out the front door and started down the street. He pulled the Walkman out of his pocket and slipped the headphones over his ears.

“Let’s see who’s next,” he said, managing to come across as casual and not terrified.

He pressed play and listened intently to past Hannah’s opening narration. The second she mentioned the word ‘lonely’, his heart jerked in his chest. He slid his gaze to her but she was playing with her fingers, idly looking at their surroundings.

_“If it sounds like I’m quoting from a school textbook, I am. Too bad no one bothered to read it. And let me tell you there are so many ways for someone to feel lonely. I’m not talking about being lonely in a crowd. Everyone feels that.”_

And as Clay stood outside Liberty High, staring at the thousands of students flowing into the building that was trying and failing to be a place for them to thrive, Clay wholeheartedly agreed with her.

With a heavy sigh, he wandered through the doors and down the hallway. As he passed by Sheri, Justin and Zach it occurred to him that for a school as big as Liberty he was running into the people he least wanted to see more often than not.

Sheri merely ducked her head and firmly walked on when she spotted Clay. Justin and Zach glowered at him, distrust in their eyes, which Clay pointedly ignored. He stared straight ahead, his headphones firmly in place, and he muttered, “Can you make sure they don’t murder me when my back is turned?”

Hannah saluted him. “You got it.”

They rounded the corner without incident. Clay was disrupted from the tape by rapid banging noises and he glanced up. Anger cut through him at the sight of some random girl slamming her fist against Hannah’s locker. He jerked down his headphones and sprinted over to her, snapping, “Hey! What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” she said tearfully, recoiling at the ferocity in Clay’s expression. “I’m sorry, I just can’t get it open.”

“Clay,” said Hannah sharply. “Stop. It’s not my locker any more.”

Clay swallowed thickly, screwing his eyes shut for a brief moment. “Right. Right. Sorry,” he said to the girl. “I didn’t mean to yell. What’s wrong?”

“Um, I have this combination, but it’s not working,” she said softly, handing him a slip of paper. “I’m new. They just assigned me this locker.”

“Tell her to push up on the lock on the last digit,” instructed Hannah. “It helps wiggle it open.”

“Uh, here,” muttered Clay. He put in the combination and followed Hannah’s directions. “Just push up on the lock on the last number.”

The girl regarded Clay with surprise. “How did you know?”

“This locker used to belong to a friend of mine.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Clay shoved his hands in his pockets and continued on his way. Hannah sent him a concerned frown. “Clay—”

“I know,” he interjected. “I freaked out. I’m sorry.”

“It’s just a locker.”

“It was _your_ locker,” said Clay tightly.

But now it wasn’t. The school had reassigned it. Bit by bit, the physical traces of Hannah’s existence were disappearing. Clay took a slow breath, focussed on the cold environment brought on by Hannah’s presence, and tried not to dwell on what would eventually come.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t think it would be so hard to see them give away your stuff.”

“I get it.” Hannah hesitated a moment before saying, “Clay, I’m…I’m not here-here.”

Clay flinched. “I know.”

“I know it’s hard, but…but don’t fool yourself, okay? I’m a ghost. And as happy as I am to spend this time with you, I…I’m not going to be here forever.”

With a shaking breath, Clay nodded. “It’s not like I don’t know that. I just don’t like thinking about it.”

He jerked the headphones back over his ears, effectively ending the conversation. Hannah gave a worried sigh but didn’t press the matter, hoping Clay would breach the topic when he was ready to fully discuss it.

There were a few minutes before class was to start so Clay walked blindly around the school with Hannah trailing after him.

_“When the subject of this tape worked his sneaky magic, that’s how I was feeling. And when you’re that kind of lonely, you reach for anything, no matter how silly.”_

The compliment bags—he remembered those. He didn’t quite understand what Mrs. Bradley had been thinking. Hadn’t she expected that the least popular kids would be lucky to get one compliment? He hadn’t had high hopes, so when he had discovered a line of poetry in his bag each day, his spirits had lifted.

He hadn’t been completely forgotten.

His brow furrowed as past Hannah recalled the conversation she had had with Zach during one particular Communications class. She and Zach had lamented their lack of compliments. Clay paused the tape and shifted disbelieving eyes to Hannah.

“Zach Dempsey didn’t get a single compliment? Are you serious?”

“Very,” said Hannah with a nod. “Shocking, isn’t it? All that popularity, but yet no one seemed to have anything nice to say about him.”

“That’s…that’s sad,” said Clay with a frown.

“It absolutely is.”

Giving his head a slight shake, Clay tried tuning back into the tape. He was expecting the subject of the tape to be Zach but one particular line caused his blood to freeze.

_“Communications class was human contact for me. Until someone in that class cut my lifeline, someone who was known for being sweet. I’ll tell you who it is, but you’re going to have to wait. I’m going to play mind games with you, just like you did with me.”_

Clay’s heart went into overdrive. Did he play games with her? Had he done anything to her in Communications class? He couldn’t remember.

Was this his tape?

“Hannah—is this my tape?”

His voice cracked and there was such terror on his features that Hannah felt compelled to break her own rule. She rested her hand against Clay’s arm and said firmly, “No, Clay. It’s not. Breathe. Relax.”

Clay took a few gasping breaths, struggling to get air passed the knot in his chest. Hannah nodded encouragingly. “Okay. Keep listening. You’ll know who it is really soon. Then stop if you have to.”

With shaking hands, Clay clicked the ‘play’ button once more. He didn’t start breathing easily until Hannah spoke about Valentine’s Day and the one who had tried to comfort her after Marcus’ crude and inappropriate behaviour.

Zach. The tape _was_ about Zach.

He let out a strange whimpering sound and Hannah clasped her fingers over his. Clay took comfort in the chill. “You’re okay,” soothed Hannah. “You’re okay. Turn it off.”

“I’m fine,” said Clay doggedly, his voice dry and scratchy.

For the rest of the school day, Clay listened to the tape on and off. He listened as Hannah described her interaction with Zach after the disastrous Dollar Valentine. He had attempted to join her for lunch, had tried to engage her in conversation, and when Hannah rebuffed his advances, was offended by what he had said, he had gotten angry.

He had stolen her compliments. Stolen Clay’s cartoons, the cartoons he made for Hannah and Hannah only. She had needed them. Needed that small source of comfort. She had tried to plead to him, had tried asking him to stop, had tried telling him what the compliments meant to her, and he had discarded her letter.

Let it drop to the floor in a crumpled ball, as if her feelings were trash.

_“Why me?”_

She had tried reaching out. Jessica hadn’t bothered to show up when Hannah asked.

 _Why didn’t you ask me?_ thought Clay desperately. _Why didn’t you call me?_

It was on the walk home when he finished Zach’s tape. With tears in his eyes he said, “I was your friend, Hannah. I’ll always be your friend.”

If he could be nothing more, he could at least be that.

“I know,” said Hannah thickly. “I mean, I know now, and I think a piece of me knew then. But I felt so _alone_. Like soul-crushingly alone. And when you feel like that, it’s easy to believe there’s no one that cares. It’s easy to convince yourself that you have no friends even when you do. I just felt defeated.”

“Everyone in Communications class was a jerk,” whispered Clay. “If they hadn’t mocked your note to Mrs. Bradley—”

“I might have actually taken her advice and looked up one of those sources for help,” finished Hannah with a tired smile. “Yeah. Wasn’t exactly a motivating experience in asking for help.” She was quiet for a minute before she said, “But Skye cared. She seemed like she understood.”

“Yeah,” said Clay softly. “Yeah, I guess she did.”

“You should talk to her more often. I don’t think she has any friends either.”

Clay opened his mouth to protest but as his mind combed through the memories of seeing her in the hallway, she was always alone, always hunched over. “I…I didn’t notice,” he said guiltily.

Hannah sent him a gentle smile. “That’s part of the problem, I think. People just don’t notice. Thank you, by the way, for the cartoons. They were really cute.”

Clay’s cheeks burned red. “How did you—?”

Hannah laughed. “I’ve been watching you take notes for about a week. You doodle when you get bored. You’re really good. How did you learn how to draw?”

“I didn’t. I just…sort of kept doing it until it started becoming decent.”

“It’s more than decent,” said Hannah strongly. After a pause, she added, slightly embarrassed, “Um, I was the one who left you the poetry.”

“You know, I think I kind of knew that already,” said Clay softly. “I, uh, Googled some of the lines you gave me. Were the poems you took them from your favourites?”

Hannah beamed. “Yeah. What did you think?”

“You’d think with a father who has a P.H.D. in Literature I’d be more cultured than I am, but sadly I am useless when it comes to poetry and classics,” said Clay regretfully. “I didn’t quite understand what most of them were talking about. They sounded pretty, though.”

“I think that’s the main point of poetry, really,” said Hannah grin. “It doesn’t matter if you get it. It just has to sound emotional.”

They reached Clay’s house and stopped in surprise at the sight of Matt sitting on the porch steps. “You’re home early,” said Clay.

“Yeah. Come sit with me.”

“Er, okay.” Clay shrugged off his backpack and lowered next to his father. He shot a glance at Hannah and asked, “Are we going to have a talk?”

“A little one,” said Matt with a nod. “Your mother and I have been talking. She says you’re having your nightmares again.”

“I woke up covered in sweat once,” said Clay in exasperation. “Once. Haven’t had another one.”

He hadn’t really been sleeping since but that was another matter entirely.

“Well, if you happen to have them more frequently, and you want to talk to a professional about them—”

“I’ll let you know, Dad.”

Matt let out a slow breath. “I know high school can be hell. I’ve been there. I was a target myself. But you’ll get through it. It helps when you have something to motivate you. I had chess club. Do you…do you have anything that brings you happiness?”

Clay briefly shifted his gaze towards Hannah. “Dad, don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m just not big on school activities.”

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” encouraged Matt. “Put yourself out there a little bit.”

_I think that’s the last thing I need right now._

But there was worry in his father’s eyes. Fear that his son truly didn’t have anything—no friends, no hobbies, no interests. “Well, there is a big game happening tonight,” said Clay at last. “I know a few classmates who will be there. I could give it a try.”

“Seriously?” said Hannah in bafflement.

Matt was a little more enthused. “That sounds like fun, buddy. Do you want me to drive you there?”

“I’m good to walk. Thanks, though.”

Clay headed inside and Hannah followed after him. “You’re really going to the basketball game?”

She was not expecting the wide, wicked grin he sent her. “Hannah. You can manipulate objects.”

It took a second for Hannah to connect the dots. Her eyes went large. “Holy crap. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before.”

…

It was pitch-black by the time they arrived at Liberty High. Clay joined the stream of students entering the gymnasium. Somehow, Justin and Zach were in tune with his presence, for they immediately picked him out of the crowd.

“How do they do that?” Clay muttered.

Hannah grinned. “I think you might be the only nerd here. You stand out.”

“Thanks so much.”

“Clay.”

The teen glanced over his shoulder to see Courtney peering warily at him. She and Marcus were manning the table selling Liberty High spirit wear. “Courtney,” Clay returned.

“What are you doing?”

“I just came to watch the game.” Clay raised a brow. “Is that all right?”

Marcus came up behind Courtney with narrowed eyes. “Is that all you’re doing?”

“Yes,” said Clay calmly.

“Hey, guys. Can I get a picture?”

“Oh, for—we’re not talking about anything, Tyler,” snapped Courtney.

“I seriously need pictures for the yearbook,” said Tyler defensively.

“You wouldn’t be on the yearbook committee for long if people knew what pictures you really took,” said Courtney in a low, furious whisper.

Tyler’s retort and Marcus’ intervention were halted by Porter, who came over to inspect the shirts. Clay took his moment to slip away and climbed into the metal stands. He found an empty spot near the very corner of the bleachers and he sat down. Hannah leaned against the railing beside him, her feet dangling in the air.

Their timing was perfect. The referee blew the whistle and the basketball sailed into the air. Zach’s fingers reached for it.

Hannah swiped her hand to the side.

The ball flew away from Zach’s reach and into the opposing team’s possession. Zach stared blankly at the spot where the ball had just been before sprinting after it.

Clay grinned behind his hand.

For the next hour, Hannah gleefully sent the basketball into the hands of the opposing team. One at a time she sent Zach, Justin and Bryce sprawling to the hard, sleek floor with a flick of her wrist. No matter how hard they tried, how hard they ran, Liberty High just couldn’t get their hands on the basketball.

Hannah made sure of it.

“This is great,” she cackled. “You are such a genius.”

“Thank you,” said Clay with a grin.

Insistent booing erupted from the stands and several disgusted Liberty High students began to leave. Clay crossed his arms over his chest, satisfaction brimming within him as he watched the frustration spill over Zach’s expression.

With only a few minutes left of the game, Hannah dropped her arm. “I think that’s good enough,” she said with a laugh. The opposing team was leading by over a hundred points and Liberty High had zero. “Wanna head out?”

“I think we’ve done enough damage for one night,” agreed Clay.

It was easier to pick his way to the floor—most of the spectators had already left. As he passed by Courtney and Marcus, Clay said seriously, “Hey, I don’t think your spirit buttons are working.”

“You piece of—” growled Marcus.

But Courtney restrained him before he could move forwards and Clay walked out of the gym, feeling better than he had in days. He paused as he walked by Zach’s car and he glanced around. The parking lot was empty.

“What are you doing?” asked Hannah suspiciously as he knelt against the asphalt.

“Getting him back,” he replied, pulling out his house key.

Hannah promptly summoned the key out of his grip. “Heck no. You’re not keying his car. We said no more illegal activities.”

“But he deserves it,” snapped Clay.

“I thought sabotaging his basketball game was payback,” she countered.

“That was for all of them,” dismissed Clay. “For all the jocks who think they’re better than everyone else just because they can play a sport. This, this is for Zach only. For what he did to you.”

“You’re not keying his car,” repeated Hannah firmly. “His mother will just pay for the damages. She’ll probably buy him a new one. It’s not going to mean anything.”

Clay pursed his lips. She did have a point. “Fine,” he said, his mind working out an alternative means to his idea.

He pulled a piece of paper out of his backpack and a red marker. In large letters, he wrote _Why Me?_ and stuck it beneath the wipers. “That works,” said Hannah softly.

She gave him back his key. For a moment they stood next to each other, staring at the hastily made sign, and then a voice interrupted them.

“Wow. Nice. Though not exactly permanent.”

“Hey, Skye,” said Clay, staring at the girl in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I use the sculpture studio at night,” she replied. “No shop boys to hog the welding rig.”

“That’s pretty cool,” muttered Clay.

“Were you at the game?”

“Yeah.” Clay smiled slightly. “They completely bombed. It was great.” He shot a glance over his shoulder. “Sorry, but the game is almost over. I gotta go before someone catches me.”

Skye raised a brow. “You didn’t vandalize anything.”

“No, but I’d rather not have anyone know this was me,” returned Clay. “You know jocks. They’re assholes. I’ll see you around, okay?”

“That’s more than likely,” replied Skye. “See you later. And Clay? You really need to step up your bad boy activities.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Clay dryly.

He jogged across the parking lot and down the street, only slowing when he was far enough away from the school where he was certain no one would be able to catch up with him. “Think Zach will get the message?”

“He’s not that dumb,” replied Hannah. “He’ll get it. You know he’s going to know it’s you.”

Clay shrugged. “No evidence. Wanna watch a movie when we get to my place?”

“Sure. What do you want to watch?”

“Have you ever seen Back to the Future?”

Hannah raised a brow. “I have not. That sounds—”

Clay levelled a finger at her. “Do not use the word dork as a descriptor.”

Hannah cleared her throat, a smile dancing on her lips. “I was going to say it sounds perfect. Race you back!”

She flew off and Clay sprinted after her. It occurred to him that though Hannah wanted him to come to peace with the fact she was dead, and one day would be gone completely, it was extraordinarily difficult in these moments of normalcy.

…

Clay was disturbed from a rare, deep slumber by a knock on his bedroom door. “Clay?” Matt called.

“Yeah?” Clay asked groggily, pushing himself out of his nest of blankets and rubbing his eyes.

“A Zach Dempsey is here to see you.”

Clay stilled. He sent a swift glance at Hannah, whose lips were pursed in a thin line. “All right. I’ll be down in a minute.”

He listened to his father’s retreating footsteps and, when they were gone, swung himself out of bed and frantically started getting dressed. “Crap.”

“I don’t know how you thought he wouldn’t suspect you,” said Hannah with a shake of her head. “It was so obvious.”

“Okay, fine, maybe. But what is he doing here?” Clay yanked a hoodie over his pajama shirt and grabbed a pair of pants. He ducked into the closet, knowing he’d be able to hear Hannah’s answer through the door.

“I don’t know,” said Hannah with a furrowed brow. “I’ll go see if they’re trying to ambush you.”

“At my own house?” exclaimed Clay.

“I think you’re making them pretty desperate. And desperation makes people do stupid things.”

She floated through the wall and appeared in the bright morning sunshine. She immediately spotted Zach standing awkwardly on the path leading to Clay’s front porch. He shifted nervously on his feet, worrying his lip between his bottom teeth. Hannah paused for a moment, giving him a long, sad glance, before doing a thorough search around the area for any of his friends.

Clay was out of the house by the time she finished, his eyes squinting against the sunlight. She quickly landed beside him and said, “Just him.”

“Zach,” said Clay warily. “What do you want?”

“What do you think?” asked Zach, sounding more defeated than angry. He held out a piece of paper and through the folds Clay could clearly make out the lines of angry red marker. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, we do,” said Clay coldly. “How could you have done that to her?”

Zach gave a hard breath. “I didn’t know she’d react so strongly. You knew her better than anyone else, right? You knew she could be too much.”

Hannah’s fists clenched at her sides. Clay’s eyes narrowed. “No. She _felt_ so much, and she couldn’t work her way through it by herself. She needed help. But no one took the note she gave Mrs. Bradley seriously.” His throat bobbed and, choking slightly with regret, he added, “ _I_ didn’t take the note seriously. But you _knew_. You knew it was her.”

“I was a coward,” said Zach shakily. “Okay? What she wrote me in that letter—I couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t take it.”

“So you just chucked it?” asked Clay bitterly. “Right in front of her?”

“No,” said Zach, and the sharpness in his tone caused both Hannah and Clay to recoil slightly. “I didn’t. She lied about that. Or she just assumed. Whatever she saw, she saw it wrong.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled a wrinkled note. Hannah made a strangled noise, recognizing it immediately. Clay stared numbly at the letter. “You kept it.”

“Of course I did,” whispered Zach. “I’m…I’m sorry, Clay. I always will be sorry.” He held it out, almost as a peace offering. “Do you want to read it?”

For a brief second, Clay was tempted. Tempted to snatch it from his fingers and read Hannah’s innermost thoughts.

But he was already privy to those. Not just from the tapes but from the girl herself.

And he couldn’t.

“If Hannah had written me a note like that,” he said at last, “I wouldn’t want anyone to read it. It’s yours, Zach. She trusted you enough to pour out her deepest emotions to you.” He gave a tired smile. “I don’t think I have the emotional strength these days to read it, anyway.”

“I didn’t know,” said Hannah with a small sob. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“She didn’t know,” repeated Clay softly. “I know Hannah’s sorry, for…for accusing you of something you didn’t do. And…and I think she forgives you for how you spoke to her in the cafeteria—”

He slid his gaze quickly to Hannah, who gave a nod. “And I’m sorry for how I spoke to him,” she whispered, shame and guilt in her features. “He…I…maybe I overreacted. He was trying to be nice. He went about it the wrong way, but I shouldn’t have been so rude.”

“—and I know she’s sorry for how she spoke to you in return,” finished Clay, feeling slightly awkward.

Zach stared unblinkingly at Clay. Then, to Clay’s embarrassment, tears glimmered in his eyes. “Thanks, Clay,” he said croakily.

“You’re welcome,” mumbled Clay. “Um. I better get inside. I’ve, uh, got some homework to do.”

“Right,” said Zach roughly. “Right. See you later.”

He turned around and Clay disappeared into his house. He took a few shuddering breaths to calm the anxious pounding of his heart. Hannah blinked rapidly at the floor. “I didn’t know,” she repeated.

“I guess we’re not the only ones who made mistakes,” Clay said, much calmer than he felt.

Hannah flinched but did not argue. He was not wrong.

…

The revelation that Zach had kept Hannah’s letter had both of them in low, subdued moods for the rest of the weekend. They didn’t talk much. The only sounds they made in the resulting forty-eight hours was an odd sort of laugh when they discovered a repairman taking a look at the house’s heating system.

“Do you think he’s qualified to fix the problem?” asked Hannah, the joking question ruined by the weakness in her voice.

“No more so than me,” said Clay honestly.

They were both tired and emotionally spent when they went to school Monday morning. They were given a brief jolt of satisfaction as the morning announcements detailed the absolutely horrendous game Liberty High played Friday evening.

Clay walked into his Communications class and took his seat. Hannah sat on his desk, her usual perch. After the bell chimed, Mrs. Bradley greeted them and handed out a sheet of paper, a questionnaire that was supposed to assess their strengths and weaknesses.

The first question; _How important is it to you to help others?_

Clay stared at it. He read over the other questions. All of them trying to judge how he believed he should help people, if he wanted to help people, and how he felt about helping people.

Anger churned in his gut. Every single Communications class after Hannah’s suicide had been about mental illness, about seeking help, about recognizing the signs that someone was suffering and about how to help someone in pain.

None of this existed when Hannah needed it. Mrs. Bradley had never brought up Hannah’s note again. No one talked about it further.

She had received their message loud and clear—they didn’t care.

With hard eyes, Clay lifted his chin. “Excuse me, Mrs. Bradley?”

“Yes?”

“How important was it for you to help Hannah Baker?”

The class stilled. All eyes turned upon him. Mrs. Bradley paused. “Very important,” she said, studying Clay carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Remember that note you got in your bag last year? The one about not feeling anything anymore?”

Mrs. Bradley nodded and Clay didn’t miss her hesitance. “Yes, of course.”

“It was from Hannah,” said Clay tonelessly.

“What makes you think that?” asked Mrs. Bradley seriously.

Clay was saved from answering by the classroom door swinging open. Porter stepped halfway into the room, his expression apologetic. “Sorry to interrupt but I need to see Mr. Jensen.”

“Of course. Clay, we’ll pick up our conversation another time.”

Clay gave a short nod, grabbed his bag and exited the classroom. When they were in the hallway, Porter spoke. “I’m surprised, Clay.”

“Sir?” asked Clay warily.

“I know its been a few weeks but you seem to be the sort of kid who always comes through with a promise.”

For a brief, terrifying moment, Clay thought Porter had finally collected him for their discussion, which Clay had studiously avoided. But his eyes caught sight of Courtney and a group of teenagers behind her, regarding him curiously.

He looked at Hannah over Courtney’s shoulder. The girl raised her hands. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Clay, these are our new foreign exchange students,” said Courtney patiently. “We agreed to show them around the school.”

_Oh. Right. Crap._

Clay barely processed as Porter introduced the students to them. “Great,” he said, sounding far from enthused and Hannah snorted. “Of course.”

Porter left them and the group began their trek around the school. For the first bit, Courtney took up the role of tour guide, her spiel sounding perfectly rehearsed as she pointed out classrooms, buildings and facilities. As they crossed through the school, Clay realized something.

Hannah’s memorial had been taken down.

He stared at the empty spot. It had been up yesterday. Why would they—

He slowly looked over his shoulder, at the oblivious, cheerful, curious exchange students. He dragged his eyes back to the empty spot in the hall, where a flower-adorned table once stood. His gaze ended on Courtney.

She stared straight ahead; lips pressed together.

“Oh. Wow,” said Hannah flatly. “Thanks a lot, everyone. Really nice. Can’t let the exchange students see the memorial for a girl who killed herself. But sure, let’s leave up the inappropriately colourful and bright posters for suicide prevention because they were _always_ there.”

“Clay,” spoke Courtney calmly. “Would you like to take over the rest of the tour?”

Clay’s smile was sharp and icy. Courtney immediately regretted asking. “Oh, absolutely.”

“Don’t do anything crazy,” warned Hannah.

Clay, in contrast to Courtney, was a poor tour guide. He lazily pointed out buildings, not caring to give them the history, and urged them along before they could process anything. Courtney remained silent beside him, trying and failing to smile.

They went through the courtyard and entered another hallway.

Justin, Jessica, Zach, Tyler, Tony, Marcus, Alex and Sheri were stationed at various points in the hall.

Fate was laughing at him. Or maybe it was laughing at them.

Clay came to a halt. Their eyes, as they tended to do these days, fell upon him. Clay grinned, wide and maniacal.

It gave him a rush to see Justin’s face turn pale.

“Before we go to the auditorium, I’d like to introduce you guys to some _very_ special people,” said Clay, high and mocking. “Justin Foley and Zach Dempsey—the revered jocks of Liberty High.”

“Clay,” Zach growled, though his eyes were pleading.

“I just want to make sure they know who really runs this school,” said Clay cheerfully. “Can’t be ticking you guys off, right?”

“ _You_ , specifically, really shouldn’t,” said Justin through clenched teeth.

“Justin,” hissed Jessica.

“Clay,” snapped Courtney at the same time.

But all common sense had fled Clay. He burned bright with anger now. “You missed something really touching,” he told the exchange students, who were looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Just yesterday, in the last hall we went through, there was a memorial for a girl who recently died. But it’s gone now. They took it down. I _can’t imagine why_.”

He spun on his heel, striding right for Hannah’s old locker. He smacked his fist against it, the resulting bang causing everyone to jump. “And this—this was Hannah’s locker. It’s special. Do you know why? Because the girl who died, Hannah, she killed herself.”

“Clay,” said Tony sharply, striding forwards.

But Clay moved further into the hallway, away from his best friend, spinning in a circle with his arms outstretched. “I’m sure you’ve seen all these suicide prevention posters hanging on the wall. But don’t be fooled. They weren’t here before. They put them up _because_ she killed herself. You might be asking yourself, why did she do it?”

Justin took a step forwards and Clay, with a grace he did not know he possessed, darted away from his grip. “Because the kids here are _assholes._ And nobody cares.”

“Clay—”

“All right, fine, a few people care,” interjected Clay, whirling to glare at Justin. “But not enough. And too late. And not all of them are _sorry_.”

Justin’s lips thinned. Alex and Zach looked away. Sheri hid her face behind her textbooks. Courtney closed her eyes. Tyler gripped his camera and stared at the floor. Immense concern filled Tony’s features as he looked attentively at Clay.

“Let me tell you something.” He rounded on the exchange students. “You made a horrible decision.”

“Clay!” barked Marcus.

“If you wanted the tour done your way, then you should have said yes when Porter asked,” snapped Clay over his shoulder. “You made a horrible decision,” he repeated, “because this school is hell. It’s a cesspool of arrogance, privilege, entitlement, indifference and apathy. But when someone dies because of it, when this school brings someone to kill themselves, suddenly this is the happiest freaking place on earth. Everyone pretends they were _so_ nice to Hannah. Everyone thinks it was her fault. But that’s not the truth. And one day…one day, the truth _will_ come out.”

_“Clay Jensen!”_

Clay was breathing heavily now, his back heaving. Porter stormed through the crowd; his expression grim. “I think you need to come with me right now,” he said firmly.

Clay spun on his heel. In one second the rage fell from his face and was replaced by false cheer. “Welcome to Liberty High,” he directed the exchange students, who were now regarding him fearfully.

“Clay!” snapped Porter.

Clay followed after him down the hall. Near the doors, the others gathered, postures tense and agitated. For a long moment, Justin peered after Clay, rubbing at his chin. “All right,” he said at last, voice carrying down the corridor. “New game.”

Clay whipped his head around, eyes narrowed into slits. “After last night’s performance, I’m not concerned.”

He didn’t bother to see Justin’s reaction. He stared straight ahead, stiffly walking after Porter. Hannah, who had stayed completely silent throughout his rant, studied him with awe and affection. She clasped his hand.

She didn’t say anything. But she didn’t need to. Clay understood.

“Always,” he said, and when Porter turned to look at him, he pretended like he hadn’t spoken.


	11. Alive

Clay dropped into the chair situated across from Porter’s desk. Porter carefully studied Clay’s blank expression and the way he slouched in his seat. “What happened out there?”

Clay resisted the urge to laugh. He had a thousand scathing retorts but he swallowed them all back. “I’m just really tired.”

_Tired of them. Tired of their acting. Tired of pretending that everything is okay and nobody did anything wrong._

“You seemed to be more angry than tired.”

Clay gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. I was angry.”

“About what?”

“The school took down Hannah’s memorial.” Clay’s fingers curled into his palms, nails biting into his skin. “They took it down so the new exchange students wouldn’t see it, right?”

“Of course not, Clay.”

“Then why is it gone?” he challenged.

“I’m afraid we can’t keep up her memorial forever,” said Porter gently.

Hannah crossed her arms. “Well, yeah, sure, but I would have appreciated at least three weeks.”

Clay’s jaw twitched. “So Jeff Atkins gets his own memorial frame, but Hannah gets nothing?”

The callousness of his words reached his ears the same time surprise flickered across Porter’s face. Clay closed his eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry. That…that didn’t come out how I meant it.”

“I understand, Clay. Are you angry about the memorial, or is this more about Hannah’s death?”

“Both,” said Clay stiffly. “What about you? Aren’t you angry?”

Porter paused. Hannah didn’t look at him, as she didn’t think there was anything worth seeing, and stared out the window. “I’m angry that we have another needless death,” said Porter at last. “I’m sad that Hannah’s gone and I’m sad for everyone who cared about her.”

Clay scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaustion weighing heavy in his bones, and bitterness sitting thick and sour in his chest. “Am I going to be punished?”

“What do you think your punishment should be?”

“I think questions like that are the kind a shrink might ask,” said Clay flatly. “With all due respect, sir, you’re not the school’s psychologist.”

“No, but I hope I can be helpful to kids who are suffering, feeling lonely, and who may try to hurt themselves—”

“Shut _up!_ ”

Clay’s outburst echoed throughout the room. Hannah recoiled, her eyes wide with shock. Silence followed and Porter leaned back slightly, something akin to satisfaction at finally gaining a strong reaction from the teen. “Sorry,” muttered Clay.

“No, it’s okay. You’re hurting. I want to help.”

And for the first time since stepping into the room, Hannah really, properly looked at Kevin Porter.

There was determination in his eyes. Attentiveness. He was staring at Clay with such intensity it was like he was trying to see straight into his soul.

“I want to be here for you, Clay. I can’t promise I’ll fully understand what you’re going through, but if you talk to me, I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” said Clay stiffly. “But right now, I’m good, Mr. Porter. I really do just need to get some more sleep.”

“Clay—”

“If I need to talk,” interjected Clay, “I’ll come talk to you. Promise.” When Porter regarded him with a frown, he added, “And I won’t forget this promise. I…look, I really don’t want to die, Mr. Porter. I’m not going to do anything to hurt myself. I’m just…just feeling things that I’m trying to work through.”

The sincerity wasn’t forced. It was true and both Hannah and Porter relaxed. “Okay,” said Porter with a nod. “Okay. I’m holding you to that promise, Clay.”

“Yes, sir. I really should get to class.”

He grabbed his backpack and walked out of the office without a backwards glance. But instead of veering to his next period he went straight out the doors and into the sunlight. Hannah looked at him in surprise.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t be in there,” said Clay tightly. “I can’t. I can’t stand that freaking place. I need a break.”

“I get that,” said Hannah softly. “You want to talk?”

Clay gave a humourless smile. “I think I made myself pretty clear in the hallway.”

“Clay!”

They turned towards the curb, where Tony was leaning against his car. “Have you been waiting for me?” asked Clay in disbelief.

“Knew you wouldn’t go back to class after you were done with Porter,” said Tony. “Come with me.”

“Tony, I’m seriously not in the mood—”

“Get in the car.”

Clay glanced at Hannah and she nodded. “Go. I think this might be important.”

“All right,” said Clay reluctantly.

Relief flooded Tony’s expression as Clay climbed into the car. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the keys in the ignition. As the car began to roll out of the parking lot, Clay glanced out the window and made brief eye contact with Porter, who was standing on the stone steps with a woman Clay did not recognize.

“Busted,” said Hannah with a wince.

_Great._

“Where are we going?” asked Clay tiredly, letting his head fall back against the seat.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“I think this might be considered kidnapping.”

Tony sent his best friend a sideways glance. “I guess now you know how Courtney felt.”

“Ooh. That’s a good one.”

“Okay, that was different,” said Clay with a scowl, ignoring Hannah. “She knew exactly where we were going and she’s the one that drove. Not kidnapping.”

“I guess,” said Tony with a hum. “More like coercion, maybe?”

“Very funny,” grumbled Clay.

Hannah leaned against the back of Clay’s seat. “I honestly have no clue where he’s taking you.”

_That makes two of us._

“Why is it so cold in here?” asked Tony with a shiver, reaching over to turn on the heat.

“Feels fine to me,” said Clay mildly and Hannah laughed.

When they were well outside of town, amongst the sprawling trees and towering cliff faces, Tony pulled onto the shoulder of the road. Clay gingerly stepped out, pulling his sweater tighter around his body. “Is this where you kill me?” he asked warily.

“No,” said Tony with a roll of his eyes.

He walked around to his trunk and removed a thick coil of rope. Clay stared. “Dude, that is not helping.”

“We’re just going for a walk,” said Tony calmly.

They started down a dirt path that cut through the trees. “What, like a hike?” asked Clay.

“Nope. Over that hill.”

Only a short distance from the road was a towering rock. Clay regarded it numbly before turning to face his friend. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“It’ll be good for you, Clay.”

“How will this be good for me?” he exclaimed.

“Just trust me,” said Tony firmly.

“Tony, I can’t climb the rope in gym class.”

“You’re going to be _fine_. I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”

“You should do it.” Clay glanced at Hannah; whose expression was serious. The bafflement in his eyes caused her to shrug. “Hey, Tony wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t think it would really help you. Give it a chance.”

“You want me to die,” said Clay, craning his neck to stare up at the very top of the cliff.

“No, I don’t,” said Tony in exasperation.

“Definitely not,” said Hannah with a strong shake of her head.

“Listen, I get that I might be a little bit crazy,” spoke Clay. “But I’m not _that_ crazy.”

“People free solo all the time,” assured Tony.

“Yeah, because they’re athletes! It’s what they do!”

“This is perfect for beginners. My brothers and I did it all the time when we were kids.” Tony handed Clay a clip-on pouch. “Rub this chalk on your hands. You’re going to slip otherwise.”

For a brief moment, Clay was tempted to whack Tony upside the head with his own chalk. “What is wrong with you?”

“All the answers you seek are at the top of the cliff,” said Tony, ignoring him. “Come on.”

Tony started forwards and Clay looked at Hannah. “Answers?” he whispered.

Hannah frowned. “I…I don’t know what he’s talking about. So I guess the only way to find out is to climb this thing.”

“Will you catch me if I fall?”

“Sure thing,” said Hannah with a nod. “I’ll be watching you from up there. Good luck!”

Clay glared after the girl as she flew swiftly to the top of the cliff. “Cheater.”

He shuffled after Tony, clapping his hands with chalk as he went. His heart pounded nervously in his chest. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to do this. But maybe, just maybe, the answers Tony was talking about involved his tape. Maybe Tony would finally tell him what he had done to Hannah.

And as terrifying as that thought was, he _needed_ to know. The wait was as agonizing as each tape he’d listened to thus far.

He took a deep breath, steeled his posture, and grasped the rocks with both hands.

It gave him a comfort that Hannah was watching. She wouldn’t let him plummet to his death.

But it still didn’t make the experience less terrifying.

Halfway through the climb Tony’s handhold dislodged and the rock very nearly pelted Clay in the eye. Hannah quickly waved it away and it skirted by his forehead. “Wait there!” ordered Tony. “I got to find a new handhold.”

“I can’t feel my arms!” groaned Clay.

His lungs were on fire. His arms were shaking. His feet felt numb. His heart felt like it was going explode out of his chest.

But his blood…his blood roared with exhilaration, overrode every other sensation he was experiencing, and spurred him onwards.

Tony reached the top first. He threw down the rope and called, “Grab it, Clay! Pull yourself up.”

And Clay, who hadn’t ever been able to scoot a few inches up the rope in gym class, successfully yanked himself up several feet to join Tony.

Clay clambered to his feet, awe and delight in his eyes. “I did it!”

“Hell yeah you did it!” said Tony proudly, clapping Clay on the back.

Hannah bounced on her toes, squealing slightly. “Holy crap, that was amazing, Clay!”

“That was awesome,” breathed Clay, sweat rolling down his forehead and back. “Wow.”

“I told you.”

“You did almost kill me with a rock, though.”

Tony flinched. “Yeah, sorry about that. I could have sworn it was going to nail you in the head.”

“It just missed,” said Clay.

He carefully approached the edge of the cliff, staring at the sprawling landscape. The green of the trees, the tiny dots that made up homes and buildings, the endless stretch of blue sky and the soft breeze brushing his bare skin.

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly, having never seen such a view before.

“It is,” whispered Hannah.

Clay lowered into a sitting position and Tony joined him. “All right,” spoke Clay. “You said I’d get answers. I nearly killed myself to get them.”

“You wouldn’t have died,” said Tony matter-of-factly. “You would have just broken a lot of bones.”

_Died. Killed. Dead. Death._

He shifted his eyes to Hannah, who was all of the above.

“I didn’t think about death until this year,” he said quietly. Hannah flinched.

“Have you ever seen a dead body?” asked Tony seriously.

“I…I have been to a few funerals.”

“What about a crime scene?”

Clay’s brow furrowed. “Like a real one? No. Have…have you?”

“Yeah. Once. It was really quiet. Cops just moving around, doing their jobs. Like it was nothing important.” Tony looked off into the distance, his eyes somber. “It was a suicide.” He gave a shaky exhale. “I saw her, Clay. Through my window. She dropped off the box of tapes and left. I didn’t go to check. Figured if she really wanted me to take whatever it was, she would have knocked. But if I had gone after her, if I had just talked to her…

“Hannah was my friend. I liked her. But sometimes she could be too much. She was drama. And she felt like I was the only person she could share her problems with. But I wasn’t in the mood to deal that day. I let her go.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I let her go, Clay.”

“Tony,” said Hannah, stricken. “Oh, Tony.”

“I finally opened the box a half hour later. I read her letter. It tells me to take care of the tapes. That if I listen, I’ll know how. So I listen to the first tape. I try calling the Bakers but there’s no answer. I go to her house. There’s already an ambulance out front. Cops, too. The front door is open and I race inside. Her parents are standing next to a body bag. And these paramedics…they just grab the bag and toss her into the ambulance.”

Clay stared at the rough, uneven texture of the cliff, his shoulders shaking. He gave a few hard sniffs, tears blurring his vision. He tried desperately to banish the image of Hannah in a body bag.

Tony had been working so hard to honour Hannah’s final wish because he felt guilty. He felt like he owed her. It’s why he wouldn’t answer his questions about the tapes. It’s why he spoke with Mrs. Baker.

“Have you told the others about this?” asked Clay when his throat didn’t feel like it was about to swell shut.

“No. But you…you needed to know. And you’re my friend, Clay.”

“I know,” said Clay quietly. “You’re my friend too, Tony. I’m sorry for being suspicious.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” Tony stood up and extended a hand, helping Clay to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He turned on his heel and started walking. Brow furrowed, Clay followed after him, indigence and shock quickly filling him at the sight of the path that steeped downwards. “We could have walked up here?”

“Yup.”

“Why didn’t we just do that? It would have been so much easier!” Clay picked his way along the dirt pathway. “Actually, why did you bring me all the way out here? You could have just told me why you cared so much about Hannah in the car.”

“I thought you needed the experience,” said Tony simply. “That it would be good for you.”

Clay recalled the thrill of making it to the top. The feel of the blood flowing through his veins and his heart racing in his chest.

The feeling of being alive.

“Yeah. Maybe it was.”

They made their way down the cliff and back through the forest. Clay glanced at Hannah, whose head was ducked down to the ground, her hands trembling at her sides. He lightly grasped her fingers and she gave a feeble squeeze back.

“It’s not his fault,” she said thickly. “Please tell him that.”

“It’s not your fault, Tony,” he said firmly.

Tony looked at him, his expression serious. “How can you say that?”

“Because you didn’t know. You didn’t know how badly she was suffering. Her death isn’t on you.”

“It’s on the others, then?” asked Tony knowingly. “Even though they didn’t know, either?”

“The others hurt her,” said Clay stonily. “You didn’t.”

“I could have stopped her, Clay.”

Clay gave a jerky nod. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe. Maybe not. I’m just…I’m really sorry you had to see that, Tony. Thank you, for telling me. It explains a lot. I…I thought you were doing all of this because you were in love with her.”

Both Hannah and Tony whipped their heads around to stare at him, disbelief dispelling some of the grief on their features. “Clay,” said Tony in amusement, “I’m gay.”

Clay blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “What?”

Tony chuckled. “I thought everyone knew that.”

“No, no, I don’t think everyone knows that,” said Clay in bafflement.

“So you thought Ryan and I were friends?”

“Yes!”

“I can’t believe you thought I was friends with a guy like Ryan.”

Clay threw his arms in the air. “Well apparently you went out with him!”

“For reasons I don’t quite understand,” mumbled Hannah, swiping at her eyes.

“Those are different things, Clay, trust me,” said Tony with a smile.

Clay’s brow pinched. “Wait. So that guy, Brad, that I saw you with, is he your boyfriend?”

“I hope so,” said Tony feelingly. “It’s been a bit strained between us lately because of…well, you and I.”

“Oh,” said Clay. “Does he think we’re…?”

“Yes,” said Tony simply.

“Do…do you want me to tell him we’re—”

“No,” said Tony with a laugh. “No, Clay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep talking to him.”

They reached Tony’s Mustang and they climbed inside. Tony pulled his phone out of the glove box and raised a brow. “Looks like your mother called my dad.”

“Crap,” muttered Clay, remembering the phone calls he had ignored while scaling the cliff. He frantically pulled his cell out of his pocket and fired off a quick text. “I’m so in for it.”

“Then let’s get you home.”

Almost fifteen minutes later Clay burst into his house with Hannah trailing behind him. He found his parents waiting for him in the living room.

“I’m sorry,” said Clay quickly. “I’m sorry for skipping school. But I just…I had to get out of there. Tony took me for a drive and we just talked. About…about Hannah. I know I should have called or texted.”

Matt moved to embrace his son and, after a moment of surprise, Clay hugged him back. “I must be in a lot of trouble.”

“No,” said Lainie with a sigh of deep relief. “But you are right. You should have called or texted, and next time we expect you to do so before you go.” She went over to gently brush her fingers through her son’s hair. “I’m glad you aren’t fighting with Tony anymore.”

“Me too,” said Clay softly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted. Um, am I grounded?”

“No,” said Matt, shaking his head. “No groundings this time. We’re just glad you’re alive.”

And it struck Clay why his mother had frantically been trying to get a hold of him. They had been worried he wouldn’t come home at all.

“I’m glad I’m alive, too,” said Clay. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night, if that’s okay?”

When his parents nodded Clay went upstairs and into his room. He dropped his backpack on the floor and collapsed on his bed with a heavy sigh. “He saw you.”

“I didn’t know,” said Hannah, staring at her hands. “I didn’t know he came to see me the night I died.”

“I think what we’re both learning is that we didn’t know a lot of things,” said Clay numbly.

Hannah blinked rapidly. “Yeah.”

Letting out a slow breath, Clay dug out the Walkman and slipped on his headphones. Closing his eyes, he pressed the play button with a trembling thumb.

He laid back on his bed, listening as Hannah recalled her experience with Ryan Shaver, whom she connected with at the local library’s poetry club. Though she had been wary of Ryan, due to him publishing the Hot List in his magazine, Ryan had won her over by gifting her with a journal. He had apologized.

And Hannah had trusted him. Trusted him with her innermost thoughts.

Which Ryan had stolen and splashed all over his magazine for the whole school to see.

Clay hadn’t known it was Hannah who had written the poem. But with the knowledge he had now, it was obvious.

Jessica had known the poem belonged to her. Why hadn’t she said anything? Why hadn’t she understood that Hannah was hurting? That the poem she had written was _real_.

People had mocked her. Laughed at her. Her English teacher had even forced the class to study it. Ryan had not been remorseful when Hannah had confronted him. He had believed he was right, and that Hannah would acknowledge it in the future.

But she didn’t.

_They’re both creepers. Always have been. Always will be._

He now fully understood the remark Hannah had made a few days ago. Ryan and Tyler had violated her privacy. Exposed her in the most vulnerable of ways without her consent.

The tape ended. Clay dragged off his headphones.

“I was an asshole,” he said regretfully. “I really did like your poem. But I shouldn’t have said the crap about not wanting to hang out with the person who wrote it.”

“It’s fine,” said Hannah with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I get it. It was pretty intense. Dramatic. Just like me.”

“I didn’t know you spoke with Tony,” said Clay, setting the Walkman down on his mattress.

“Not all the time,” muttered Hannah. “Just whenever new crap would happen to me. Which was pretty often, I guess. He was a good listener. Told me to ignore them. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know I was annoying him.”

“He didn’t say you were annoying him,” replied Clay. “Sometimes…sometimes we can’t deal with our own problems, let alone someone else’s. He needed his own mental health day. It just…”

“It just happened to fall on the day I had completely given up,” finished Hannah. “I know. It wasn’t up to him to save me. I…I didn’t mean to put that on his shoulders.”

_You put a lot on our shoulders, Hannah._

For a moment there was silence, in which Clay could have sworn Hannah heard his thought as if he had spoken it. He swallowed and stood up, stepping around Hannah to rummage through his books. He eventually unearthed Ryan’s magazine, the one that contained Hannah’s poem.

“You kept it?” said Hannah in surprise.

“I told you I liked it,” said Clay. He moved next to her and opened it, and together they read through the poem.

“You know…it is good,” said Hannah softly, the emotions she had injected into her words seeming to leak off the page. She traced her transparent fingers over her handwriting.

“Very good,” said Clay strongly. “I wish I had known it was you.”

“I’m kinda glad you didn’t. You might have stopped hanging out with me.”

“I wouldn’t have. Despite what I said, I wouldn’t have.” Clay closed his eyes. “I’m sorry if I made you feel otherwise.”

“I’m going to start making you put money in a jar for every time you apologize,” warned Hannah, though this time her smile was warm.

Clay rolled his eyes at her and gently slipped the magazine into his backpack. Hannah tilted her head to the side. “What are you doing?”

“I think I know the perfect home for it.”

…

The next morning, before school, Clay stopped by the Bakers’ pharmacy. Hannah waited outside, out of sight of the windows, and Clay pushed the door open. The bell chimed as he entered and Mrs. Baker looked up. Light entered her eyes at the sight of the teen.

“Clay!”

“Hi, Mrs. Baker.” Clay approached the counter. “I just wanted to drop something off. Something that I found.” He slid the magazine across the counter. “There’s a poem in here that Hannah wrote. It’s really good. It’s on page seven.”

After a moment of standing still in shock, Mrs. Baker came to her senses and quickly flipped through the pages. Upon discovering her daughter’s handwriting, she gave a soft gasp. “It’s her,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” said Clay, speaking passed the lump in his throat. “I didn’t know that, then. But I do now. I thought you might like to have it. I, uh, got to get going. Don’t want to be late for school.”

He took a step back, but he paused when Mrs. Baker gripped his hand and squeezed. “Thank you,” she said tearfully.

Clay squeezed back. “You’re welcome.”

He couldn’t give her the tapes. But he could give her this.


	12. Fright

Clay biked to school after dropping off the magazine. The towering brick building, which caused dread to surge in his gut on any usual day, was now an insufferable and anxiety-inducing sight. It was difficult to walk the halls and not because he had Hannah’s ghost following his every step. He was now burdened with the knowledge that the halls, the classrooms, the gymnasium and nearly every nook and cranny held horrible memories for her.

Clay might not have experienced those memories firsthand. But it didn’t make them any less painful.

He reluctantly stepped through the front doors and made tracks for his locker. Hannah ducked and side-stepped and twirled with the grace of an off-kilter ballerina as she tried not to run into anyone. She knew the sensation of walking through her wasn’t pleasant, given the gasps and shrieks she’d received the few times it happened, and did her best to avoid them.

Ryan pushed his way through a cluster of girls and he paused when he saw Clay, his expression calculating. Clay answered his silent questions with a hard glare and scowl as he passed.

Hannah raised a brow. “You don’t want to talk to him?”

Clay heaved out a breath. “I kind of do. But I also feel like I know exactly what he’s going to say. He wasn’t remorseful when _you_ confronted him. How did he react when he listened to his tape?”

“I mean, he cried, like everyone else,” said Hannah slowly. “But I guess you’d have to be a complete monster to _not_ cry after listening to my tapes.”

“Yeah, but were they crying because they felt sorry for what they did? Or were they just scared of the chance the tapes would make their way to the public?” asked Clay bitterly.

“The fear came later.”

She spoke so quietly Clay did not hear her. “What?”

“The fear came later,” Hannah repeated, louder this time. Her brow was pinched and her blue eyes were dull. “They…they weren’t worried about the repercussions of the tapes until later. But when they listened to theirs…yeah, maybe they did feel sorry. I don’t know. Most of them sure aren’t sorry now.”

“Yeah,” muttered Clay, thinking particularly of Justin, Tyler and Marcus. At least Courtney, Zach and Alex seemed to feel some remorse for their actions. As for Jessica, Hannah may have said that she apologized when she was still alive, but as far as Clay was concerned it was meaningless. Jessica hadn’t made further steps to repair her friendship with Hannah even after she had moved on from Alex.

He retrieved his books from his locker and trudged to his first class. “Do you want me to talk to him?” he asked, shooting a glance over his shoulder in the direction Ryan had gone.

Hannah shook her head. “Nah. Compared to everything else that was done to me, that one was not the worst. At least he didn’t attach my name to it. It’s just unfortunate that Jessica of all people recognized it was me.”

“If it wasn’t the worst, why is he on the tapes?”

“Because it still hurt,” said Hannah. “And after everything I’d been through up until that point it was just another stab to my heart. Every time I tried to make a friend they turned on me. He was no exception.”

Clay’s throat bobbed as anxiety coiled around his heart, squeezing tight. _I was—am—her friend. What did I do to turn on her?_

His thoughts began to spiral down, down, down.

“Clay?”

Her voice jerked him out of his dark clouds just enough for him to gain his senses. Breathing hard through his nose, Clay gave his head a hard shake. “Sorry. Spaced out for a sec.”

“You okay?” asked Hannah in concern.

“Fine,” lied Clay.

Hannah frowned at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Without giving her time to press further, Clay strode purposefully into his classroom. Hannah watched after him, nibbing on her bottom lip. Guilt surged through her, nearly crippling her.

She was putting him through hell. He didn’t deserve it.

A tiny part of her was beginning to understand that most of the others didn’t deserve it either and that she had made a grave mistake.

But she was too scared to admit it.

…

In the dark of the night, when his parents were asleep, Clay cracked out the Walkman. He dragged the headphones over his ears, his heart beginning to thump nervously in his chest. Hannah sat on the edge of his bed, picking at her nails and staring at the carpet.

Screwing his eyes shut, Clay braced himself and pressed play.

_“I’ve got a question for you, Justin.”_

The fear and panic whooshed out of him in one strangled gasp.

_“Not the one you think, not yet. What’s the best part of high school? The friends? The romance? No. The best part is summer break. Otherwise known as the great reset button.”_

Hannah had been determined to start over. She had been determined to change and work harder. It was why she had shorn off her hair.

He hadn’t thought much of it.

When he had returned home from a relatively boring summer with his grandparents, Clay had spent his first day back scraping gum off the chairs with Hannah. He had mustered the courage to ask her to Jessica’s party, offered to give her a ride on his bike.

She had said no. He had not been expecting her to turn up. So when she did, he had been ecstatic.

They had sat together on the couch, crushed together in a manner that was cozy and not uncomfortable. They had laughed and bantered and chatted. They had talked about their parents.

The night had been magical. Or it had been magical to him.

Clay’s heartbeat increased when past Hannah informed him that she had three stories to tell about the night of Jessica’s party. He knew for certain he was one of them.

He was the reason she was in that bedroom. He knew it for a fact.

His breaths became shorter.

_“You’d been with the same girl all night, Justin. But I’m not going to call her out by name. I realized two things in that moment. Number one, I was drunk. Number two, so was this girl.”_

The girl Hannah was referring to was Jessica. There was no question about that.

Jessica, like most everyone at that party, had had too much to drink. In the midst of kissing Justin, she had fallen half-conscious, and she had asked him to stop in her drunken haze.

Justin had obeyed.

But someone else hadn’t.

Justin had left the room to let Jessica rest. He had guarded the door.

He had failed that duty.

He had let someone rape her. And Hannah had watched the whole thing.

_“I had to do something. I had to make him stop. But I couldn’t get my feet to move. It was dark in there. And the music was loud but I saw his face. I knew his voice. All of you would know it too. But this tape isn’t about him. It’s about you, Justin. You called that guy a friend. You let him rape your girlfriend. That girl had two chances that night. But we both let her down. How am I supposed to live with that? How do you live with it? How does she?”_

The tape ended and Clay yanked off his headphones. He was gasping, struggling to breathe, and Hannah reached out to grip his shoulders. Cold flooded through him, the shock of it causing him to choke out a wheeze.

“In and out, Clay,” commanded Hannah. “Slowly. In and out.”

Through the fog in his mind and the roaring in his ears, Clay managed to do as she said. The exercises he learned during therapy were rusty but not forgotten. It took a few minutes before he gained control of his breathing and his panic attack began to ebb.

“Hannah,” he said hoarsely. “Hannah, she—”

“Not now,” said Hannah gently, placing a finger over his lips. “You’re shaking. Um…maybe we could go for a run or something? I think physical exercise is supposed to help.”

Clay’s limbs trembled uncontrollably. His chest was still caught in a vice grip. “I don’t need—”

“I don’t think you’re ready to talk about this right now,” said Hannah softly. “Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.”

She stepped out of the room and after struggling to get dressed, Clay went after her. The sun was rising over the horizon when he ventured out through the front door. The air struck his face, cool against his cheeks, and he gulped it down.

He started to jog. His legs didn’t work for him at first and he kept tripping. But Hannah caught him each time, using her ghost powers to stop him midfall. He eventually found his rhythm and he made his way mindlessly through the suburbs, Hannah following his lead.

_Bryce raped Jessica._

_Hannah watched._

_Justin didn’t stop him._

_Hannah didn’t stop him._

_Everyone before me listened to this tape and no one did anything about it._

The pounding thoughts were soon drowned out by the ache in his bones and the burn in his lungs. Sweat coursed down his back and face and when he returned home, he was exhausted and drained and no less horrified.

He showered and dressed and found Hannah waiting for him in his room. He collapsed on his bed and stared at her. “Bryce raped Jessica.”

“Yes,” whispered Hannah.

“You didn’t stop him.”

He tried to keep the accusation out of his voice. Hannah still went on the defense.

“I told you, I was paralyzed,” she said thickly, her voice hitching on a small sob. “I couldn’t move. Being drunk didn’t help. I _wanted_ to do something, Clay. I swear I did. But…but I just _couldn’t._ ”

Clay’s jaw clenched. An image of a helpless Jessica shimmered in his mind and he hastily banished it. “Justin let Bryce do it.”

“He tried to stop him, I guess. But Bryce threw him out and Justin just left her.”

Clay scrubbed a hand down his face. Anger flared, burning bright in his chest. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this information, Hannah?”

“Wh-what?”

“I can’t just leave this be.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” said Hannah. “Justin has been lying to Jessica about this since it happened. That’s part of the reason why they’re so determined to believe my tapes are lies. But Justin knows the truth. And I think deep down, Jessica knows it too, but doesn’t want to confront it. The only witness is me and I’m dead.”

“Then we’ll have to convince her,” said Clay hotly. “Tell her to go to the police.”

“Clay.” Hannah stood and swung around so she was standing in front of him. Her eyes were bright with tears that could never be shed but her expression was serious. “What happened to Jessica is traumatic. She was violated. Would you want someone ambushing you, asking you questions about the absolute worst time of your time?”

Clay thought of Jessica’s anger. Of her determination to believe that everything on Hannah’s tapes were lies. He thought of her fear. He thought of one particular interaction he had with her when he first plunged into the tapes.

_“I know you were hurt, too. But I don’t think it was Hannah who caused the hurt. Not really.”_

_Jessica stood up, her legs slamming into the table and making her hot chocolate wobble, sending droplets splattering over the surface. “Don’t talk about what you don’t know!” she shouted._

_“And I think, if Hannah really was lying, you wouldn’t be this upset.”_

He understood now.

“If you push her, if you badger her, you might break her,” whispered Hannah. She closed her eyes. “I…I don’t want that to happen to her.”

Clay folded his hands. The anger still burned but it was dimmed by grief and despair and helplessness. “I think,” he said softly, “a piece of her is already broken. But you’re right. You’re right. But I still want to talk to her.”

Hannah hesitated. “I want to help her too. Trust me, Clay, I really do. But I don’t know if she’ll talk to you.”

“All I can do is ask.”

Clay dug out his cell phone and typed out a text, which he sent to both Justin and Jessica.

**_Hey. I’m hoping we could talk. Could we meet outside the school? Before first period?_ **

It took a few minutes before they answered.

 ** _Fine. But no funny business, Jensen,_** came Justin’s curt response.

Jessica’s was a simple, **_Whatever._**

He pocketed his phone. “Come on,” he said. “We need to get going.”

When he arrived at school, he found Jessica, Justin, Sheri, Bryce and their crowd hanging out outside the side exit. Jessica was swaying on her feet, a glazed look to her eyes. She tipped her head back and took a swig from her water bottle. By the way her friends whooped it clearly wasn’t water.

Jessica noticed him first. She stilled and her lips thinned out. She elbowed Justin and he glanced over at him. His eyes narrowed into slits.

“We gotta go,” spoke Jessica. “Justin has to copy my Spanish homework.”

There was brief chorus of goodbyes as they dispersed. Justin gave a jerk of his chin before disappearing into the school with his girlfriend. Taking this as a cue to follow, Clay trailed after them.

They led him to the empty Communications classroom. Justin looked ready to thrash him if he said the wrong thing. Jessica had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The room crackled with tension.

“I just want to say,” began Clay slowly, “that I finished Hannah’s tape about your party last summer, Jessica.”

“And?” asked Justin aggressively.

“I know you said she’s lying. I don’t agree.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” snapped Jessica. “It’s all crap, Clay. None of it happened the way she said it did.”

“Okay,” said Clay calmly. “What really happened, then?”

For a moment, doubt flickered in her eyes. “I hooked up with my boyfriend,” she said. “Yeah, I was drunk, but so was Justin. We both passed out right after.”

Clay studied her. At the bags under her eyes and stress lines in her forehead. He looked at Justin, whose jaw was clenched so tight Clay was certain he would crack something. He took a slow breath.

“Is that what you remember? Or is that what Justin told you?”

Justin moved across the floor. Clay discreetly waved his hand at Hannah, warning her to back off, and let Justin lift him up by the front of his shirt.

“Justin, stop!” snapped Jessica.

“What are you trying to say?” snarled Justin.

Clay laid his hand overtop Justin’s wrist. “I’m saying that I don’t believe either of you. I don’t think you even believe it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t look like death warmed over, and Jessica wouldn’t be drunk at school.”

“This is what having fun looks like, Clay,” hissed Jessica.

“No, that’s what an unhealthy coping mechanism looks like,” returned Clay. “I know who did it. I know you both know who did it.” He locked eyes with Jessica. “I’m here for you, Jessica. I want to help you.”

Justin threw him to the floor. “Stay away from my girlfriend, Jensen. And if you ever spew this crap to _anyone,_ I will beat you within an inch of your life.”

He grabbed Jessica by the hand and pulled her from the room. Neither of them spared Clay a backwards glance. Hannah let out a breath. “Wow. I thought he was going to kill you for a second.”

“The day is still young,” said Clay warily.

The bell rang, signalling that he was late for class. He jogged to Communications and found Mrs. Bradley passing out papers. As he made his way to his seat, Hannah remarked, “You were pretty hard on her a few days ago.”

“What?” he mumbled.

“About the note I left. Yeah, sure, she didn’t try as hard as she should have, but she at least _tried_.” Hannah looked at her former teacher, a soft frown on her features. “And I guess that’s more than anyone else really ever did.”

Clay thought about Marcus, Justin, Tyler and Ryan, who refused to apologize, to acknowledge that they had wronged Hannah. He thought about Courtney, who he had to drag to Hannah’s grave in order to gain a sincere apology.

He didn’t want to be like them. He didn’t want to be so stubborn and self-righteous as to think he was above apologizing.

He stepped next to Mrs. Bradley. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About what I said about Hannah writing that note. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. I was being rude.”

“That’s very sweet, Clay,” said Bradley. “Thank you.” In a lower tone, she asked gently, “Have you spoke with Mr. Porter?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good. He’s there for you whenever you need him.”

Hannah resisted the urge to snort.

Clay nodded and took his seat. Hannah hopped onto the edge of his desk. Pratters wrapped his arms around his torso and he snapped, “Is anyone going to fix the heating in this dump?”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” said another student in annoyance. “Some classrooms are completely fine. Some feel like I’m in the freaking North Pole.”

“The principal is looking into it,” replied Bradley.

Hannah stretched her arms behind her head. “I hope Bolan isn’t spending too much on repairmen. They’re certainly not going to find the problem.”

…

The first few classes went by and when lunchtime rolled around Clay dragged himself to the cafeteria. As he stood in line Marcus approached him. “Hey, Clay. How are you doing?”

“I feel like crap, Marcus,” said Clay bluntly.

“That’s understandable,” said Marcus, trying to sound sympathetic. “Did you and Tony talk?”

“We did.”

“And?”

“And the content of our conversation is private,” said Clay.

“Are you going to, you know, back off?”

Clay turned to face Marcus fully. “Considering Justin is trying to kill me with his eyes right now, I’m assuming you talked?”

“Yes,” said Marcus guardedly.

“Then you know how I feel about certain things. What I find absolutely disgusting is that not a single one of you feel the same way.”

“It’s all lies, man.”

“She’s not a liar,” said Clay quietly.

“Look, I get that she meant a lot to you,” said Marcus. “I get that you’re going through a process. But I’m worried about you.”

Clay gave a sarcastic laugh. “No. You’re worried about what I’m going to say. Because I’m apparently the only one who wants to do something.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Clay craned his neck to look over Marcus’ shoulder. Zach and Justin were staring steadily at him. Clay shook his head. “Marcus, I know for a fact you don’t give a crap about me. I know they don’t either.”

“I’m trying to protect you. But I can’t if you keep freaking out. What’s your play, anyway?”

“My play?” asked Clay in disbelief. “This isn’t a game, Marcus. You guys broke Tyler’s window because of what he did. But what about Jessica? There are _crimes_ on these tapes. I don’t care what Jessica says. It happened. I’m not playing for anything. I want justice.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” said Marcus calmly. “You haven’t even finished the tapes yet. You haven’t gotten to yours. The worst is yet to come.”

“Trust me, I know,” said Clay flatly.

He turned his back and after a few seconds Marcus departed. He grabbed his lunch and went over to an empty table. He picked at his sandwich and looked up at the sound of sneakers squeaking against the floor. Alex and Justin were tussling and Zach sprang from his seat to intervene. Justin and Alex both looked furious.

“They’re falling apart,” observed Clay numbly.

Hannah watched with sadness as Alex stormed out of the cafeteria. “Yeah.”

Clay ate half of his sandwich before his stomach gave up on him. He threw out the remainder of his lunch and strode out of the cafeteria. He encountered Ryan in the hall and the teen gave Clay a tight smile.

“Somehow the Bakers found out that a poem of Hannah’s made it into _Lost & Found_. Any idea how that happened?”

“I gave my copy to them.”

Ryan’s shoulders trembled. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The administration is forcing me to stop _Lost & Found_. That was the whole focal point of my college applications. I built that magazine and it was ripped away.”

Clay rubbed a hand down his face. “That wasn’t what I wanted to happen.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Her parents didn’t get a note, Ryan,” whispered Clay. “They have no answers. Not like we do. That was the closest I could give them.”

And the hot air and anger vanished from Ryan’s sails. His posture curled and he closed his eyes. “She wrote a beautiful poem. The world deserved to see it.”

“They did,” Clay agreed. “But with her permission. It doesn’t matter if it was anonymous or not. It still hurt her. I’m sorry about your magazine, Ryan. But if you wanted material, you should have gotten it legitimately.” 

“I disagree, but saying anything further would make me look like an asshole, and I’m not looking to be like them.” Ryan pulled a face. “But a heads-up, Clay. I saw Marcus going into Porter’s office as I was coming out. Before I left, I heard him mention your name.”

Clay balked. “Crap.”

“Yeah,” said Ryan. “Just…just watch out for yourself, all right? I get what you’re doing. But don’t think you’re better than the rest of us. Because you’re not.”

“Duly noted,” said Clay tightly. “And…and thank you, Ryan. For telling me.”

“You’ve got a cute face. I’d hate to see it all banged up or expelled.”

Clay turned a brilliant red as Hannah spluttered with shocked laughter. Ryan winked at Clay before continuing down the hallway, leaving the boy to fumble and fail with his words.

“I almost forgot how funny he is,” said Hannah with a snicker.

“He’s a real riot,” grumped Clay.

…

Partway through Clay’s second-to-last class the door swung open and Childs, Porter and a cop walked in.

As they spoke with Clay’s teacher Skye frantically dug through her bag and removed a pocketknife, which she concealed against her side. Clay looked at her briefly before regarding the group of solemn-looking adults with confusion.

“Marcus,” said Hannah in horror. “Clay, did you leave your bag unattended?”

Clay sent her a confused look.

“They’re doing a bag check for contraband.”

Clay’s eyes went wide. ‘He wouldn’t,’ he mouthed.

“After Ryan’s warning? This isn’t a coincidence,” said Hannah grimly. “He sent them here.”

‘What do I do?’ Clay mouthed, panicked.

“Okay, everyone, hands on your desk,” called his English teacher. “Vice-Principal Childs is going to do a bag check.”

They were beelining for him.

Hannah darted for the fire alarm and used her powers to pull it down.

Everyone jumped as the alarm blared, loud and jarring. The police officer, Childs and Porter went still with shock before Childs barked, “Everyone form a single file line and move calmly towards the nearest fire exit! Leave your bags behind!”

The class scrambled to get out of their seats and Clay shot a look at Hannah. “I got it!” she said quickly. “Go.”

Clay jumped from his seat and joined his queue of classmates. As the adults moved to make sure all the students were accounted for, Hannah flicked her hand. Clay’s backpack unzipped and she looked inside. Nestled between his books was a bag of weed.

“That jerk,” she growled.

She snapped her eyes up to make sure no one was looking. With a wave of her hand the window cracked open and she sent the weed sailing through the gap. She zipped up Clay’s backpack and stood off to the side, watching as the students left.

The officer didn’t really need to check every bag. He went straight for Clay’s desk, which Porter pointed out, and dug through his backpack. After a moment he called, “It’s clean! There’s nothing in here.”

Childs furrowed her brow. “Do you think he had time to pull it out when the alarm went off?”

Porter shook his head. “No, he left his seat as soon as you told him to.”

“Perhaps Marcus was mistaken, then.”

Satisfied that Clay would not be busted for something that wasn’t his, Hannah phased through the wall. She found the weed nestled in the bushes and she levitated it out of the leaves. She wound her way to the exit point designated for that particular English class and found Clay lingering near the back of the crowd.

“Clay!” she shouted. When he turned she gave him a thumbs up. “We’re good!”

His body sagged with relief.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes! I gotta get rid of this!”

She regrouped with him ten minutes later and Clay said urgently, “What did you do with it?”

“I stuck it in Marcus’ locker,” replied Hannah. “Figured it should go back to its rightful owner.”

“He’s just going to find a way to plant it on me again,” said Clay with a scowl.

Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, no. He wants to play games? We’ll play games.”

Clay eyed her warily. “What does that mean?”

“I think it’s time we gave Marcus a scare.”

It took a minute for Clay to understand what she was getting at. His eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”

“Out of all the ones you’ve listened to so far, his attitude is the worst,” said Hannah bitterly. “He’s so arrogant and entitled. He doesn’t really feel sorry for me. He’s so worried about being stupid valedictorian and getting into an Ivy League school. His reputation matters above everything else.”

“So…you’re going to scare him.”

“Yup. Send him a text. Ask him to meet you in the parking lot tomorrow at seven-thirty.”

“Are you _sure_?”

“Absolutely. What he did? He could have ruined your life. That would have been a mark on your record. I won’t let anyone ruin you.”

_Especially not me._

…

During the rest of school and through the evening, Clay could not stop thinking about what Jessica had went through. It consumed him and ate him up from the inside. Unable to talk to his parents, and already knowing there was not much Hannah could do, Clay made a decision. After dinner he went out on his bike.

Hannah floated after him. “Clay, I don’t think Tony can help you any more than I can,” she spoke.

“I have to try,” said Clay firmly. “I need help. If Jessica won’t talk and Justin won’t talk and you _can’t_ talk, I need someone who can help me.”

“This is Jessica’s choice, Clay.”

“It’s a choice that’s been taken from her, because Justin refuses to tell her what really happened,” snapped Clay. “I can’t let Bryce get away with that. There’s gotta be something I can do.”

“And Tony can help you figure that ‘something’ out?” asked Hannah dubiously.

“I’m hoping,” said Clay grimly.

He biked over to Tony’s father’s auto shop. Tony’s dad directed him into the garage and he found his best friend working on a car and he called, “Hey, Tony.”

“Clay,” he said in surprise. “What’s up?”

“Your dad said you were here.” Clay rolled his bike across the cement floor. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Sure, man.” Tony wiped his hands on a rag. “About what?”

Clay swallowed. “About what happened to Jessica.”

Understanding dawned. Tony removed his safety glasses. “Okay.”

“I don’t get it,” said Clay in frustration. “Everyone listened to that tape and ignored it.”

Tony raised a finger. “No one ignored it, Clay.”

“Well, no one did anything about it! That sounds like ignoring to me.”

“That’s not what Hannah wanted.”

Hannah flinched. “Well, he’s not wrong,” she said, shame-faced. “I didn’t really leave Bring Bryce to Justice on my to-do list for him.”

Clay scowled. “Jessica got raped! That’s not something we can just brush off!”

“Clay, you don’t know the whole story yet,” said Tony firmly.

“I’d ask what the whole story is but that would be a wasted effort,” said Clay flatly. “I can’t believe this. I came to you for help.”

“And I’ll always give it,” said Tony patiently. “After you finish the tapes.”

Clay frowned. Eyed him uncertainly. “You will?”

“Yes. But I’m not promising anything. Even if we get the tapes out, if that’s what you really want, it doesn’t guarantee justice for Jessica. It’s a dead girl’s word against Bryce’s. It’ll be open season on Hannah Baker all over again.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Hannah softly.

But it did to Clay. “We just need one person to tell the truth.”

“All right. We’ll work something out when you finish the tapes.”

And the breath he didn’t know he was holding left Clay. “Thanks,” he whispered. “Seriously, Tony. Thank you. Um, you want some help with anything?”

Tony laughed. “Hell no. I’m not letting you anywhere near these cars with a tool. Just sit over by the fridge and have a drink. I’ll drive you home when I’m finished.”

“Thanks,” repeated Clay sheepishly.

“You’re welcome.”

…

The morning sunlight was peeking through the overcast sky. With his hands folded behind his back, Clay walked amongst the parked cars of the teachers and early-bird students. A few minutes past seven-thirty Marcus arrived, his hackles raised as he sauntered towards Clay from the opposite end of the lot.

Clay smiled. “Weed in my backpack. Come up with that one yourself?”

“I was trying to teach you a lesson,” said Marcus tightly. “You’re not in control here, Clay.”

Clay tilted his head. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. You’re just damn lucky the fire alarm went off when it did.” Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “What’s this about, anyway? You going to threaten me?”

“No, not threaten. Not really. I figured it was time that I told you my secret.”

“What secret?” asked Marcus suspiciously.

“I’m sure you noticed that the school has gotten pretty cold lately. But maybe you never pieced together that its only freezing when I’m in the room. Maybe Justin told you about how Alex’s car went haywire. Maybe you’ve noticed me talking to myself in the hall. Maybe you thought it was weird how none of the Liberty High basketball players could get their hands on the ball in the last game.”

“What are you on about?” asked Marcus impatiently.

Hannah landed beside Clay at that moment. “We’re clear. No one else is in the lot and I turned off the cameras.”

Clay grinned broadly. He was going to enjoy this.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Marcus?”

Marcus opened his mouth. But he didn’t get a chance to answer as every car in the parking lot suddenly flew up in the air, levitating high off the ground.

Marcus dropped to his knees. A strangled sound ripped from his throat as he gaped at the floating vehicles, wide-eyed and terrified.

Clay extended his arms. “Hannah didn’t leave, Marcus. She’s been with us all this time. Watching. And since I got the tapes, she’s been hanging around me. She’s not happy with most of you, for reasons I’m sure you can understand. But the crap you pulled with the weed? She’s definitely not happy about that.”

“I---you—she—”

Marcus could not form sentences. He could only choke out words, his eyes trained on the supernatural sight before him.

“So let me make something very clear, Marcus,” said Clay coldly. “I’m not in this alone. Hannah and I won’t stop until we make sure Jessica gets her justice. You can retaliate all you want. Just remember that I have something you don’t. And it doesn’t matter that you know about Hannah now, because no one will believe you. They’ll call you crazy. They’ll think you’ve lost your mind. And that really wouldn’t be great for your reputation, would it, if you went around screaming about ghosts?”

Hannah lowered her arms and the cars fell back into place on the ground. The resounding _thump_ snapped Marcus out of his stupor. He rocketed to his feet, looking as if he were about to throw up. With a high-pitched howl he tore from the parking lot, sprinting towards the school.

Hannah brushed her hands against her legs. “Think he’ll leave you alone after that?”

Clay snorted. “Only if he’s as smart as the school claims him to be.”


	13. Accident

“I guess scaring the crap out of Marcus was the only way to make him keep his distance,” remarked Hannah.

Clay nodded as he shuffled down the hallway, eyes shifting around in search for any of the people he knew to be on the tapes. Despite what he had said to Marcus he wasn’t wholly convinced Marcus would keep his mouth shut. And if he had raced straight to his friends, babbling about Hannah’s ghost and Clay’s ability to communicate with her, Clay wasn’t entirely sure how they would take it.

They were desperate, after all. Who knew what their minds would concoct?

“Yeah,” he replied after a few seconds of delay. He took a slow breath. “No one came to confront me, either. I guess we’ll see what happens.”

Hannah’s brow rose. “You don’t think anyone will believe him, do you?”

“I think they’ll think I probably drugged him or something,” said Clay flatly. “They already think I’m out to get them.”

“You kinda are.”

“Okay, not exactly the point I’m trying to make,” said Clay with a groan.

“Unless one of them is a believer in ghosts, and I seriously doubt that, they’re not going to believe him,” said Hannah firmly. “That’s even if he decides to tell them.”

Clay reached the front entrance and he pushed the doors open, stepping outside and blinking against the afternoon sunlight. “Like I said. I guess we wait and see.”

…

Late in the evening, after he bid his parents goodnight, he lay in his bed fully clothed and shrugged on his headphones. His heart began twist in its familiar, anxious patterns as he readied the tape. Hannah sat in his computer chair, idly kicking her legs as she watched him. Clay swallowed thickly and settled against his pillow, closing his eyes.

_“Sometimes…things just happen to you. They just happen. You can’t help it. But it’s what you do next that counts. Not what happens but what you decide to do about it. And I’ve made some very bad decisions in my life, as you know. This is the second story about the night of Jessica’s party. Sheri, this is your tape.”_

Clay wanted to cry with both relief and terror. This wasn’t his tape.

But the next one had to be.

He tried to shove the realization to the back of his mind.

_Focus on Sheri. Focus on her tape._

He listened as Hannah narrated the immediate aftermath of witnessing Bryce sexually assault Jessica. She had been drunk and weak and trapped at the party. She had been unable to go anywhere until Sheri offered her a ride home.

She had tried to confess to Sheri. But had been ultimately unable to do so.

Sheri had offered to let Hannah sleep off her drunkenness at her place. Her cell phone had died and Sheri had been digging around for hers when she crashed into the stop sign.

Sheri had freaked. Hannah had, too, but for a different reason. She had wanted to call for help. Sheri had wanted to flee.

She did. Leaving Hannah on the side of the road, wasted and traumatized. With shaking legs, she had maneuvered her way to the closest public place—the convenience store in which Bryce had grabbed her ass.

Fate was a cruel mistress.

Hannah had forcibly borrowed the cell phone from the overweight, indifferent bearded employee. It turned out someone had already reported the accident.

But it was too late.

Clay had been too late.

Jeff Atkins hadn’t been aware there was a stop sign on that corner. He had ploughed straight through, thinking it was his right of way. He hadn’t died drinking and driving. It hadn’t been his fault at all.

Hannah had been wrought with guilt. Sheri had told her to keep her mouth shut and to stay away from her.

_“I walked by their house three times the week that Jeff died. I even got their phone number and called. No one answered. I didn’t leave a message. I wanted to tell them. I couldn’t. I know I was feeling guilt and anger. Mostly anger. Anger at the world and the way it works. Anger at the people in it. And above all else, anger at myself. I couldn’t take knowing I made the world worse. I couldn’t take knowing it wouldn’t get any better. I couldn’t take knowing I lost out on a very important thing.”_

Clay slowly removed his headphones. He blinked several times but the tears did not disperse. They did not trickle down his cheeks. They remained firmly in place, blurring his vision.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Hannah. “I know I should have said something. But I was afraid.”

Clay gave a jerky nod. “Yeah, you and Sheri both,” he said hoarsely.

He stood up abruptly, breathing very hard. The tears would not unstick and the walls felt like they were closing in on him. He grabbed his backpack and yanked open his bedroom window. He climbed out onto the roof, ignoring Hannah’s calls, and slid his way to the ground below. He grabbed his bike and pedalled hard, hoping the exertion and bite of the night air would chase away his growing despair.

It didn’t.

He arrived at the corner of Tanglewood and Bay Street. He let his bike fall limply in the road. He approached the chunk of wood still sticking up from the ground, which once held the original stop sign. A crisp, shiny new one had been erected right next to the remains.

He dropped heavily to the ground and rubbed at his eyes. Hannah approached him; her hands tucked under her armpits. Her expression was distraught. “I’m so sorry, Clay.”

“I made the 911 call,” said Clay numbly. “I heard the accident while I was walking home from the party. I ran as fast as I could. I found Jeff first. He was covered in blood. The passenger seat was covered in beer. The older man in the other car was hurt, too.”

“I—I didn’t know that,” whispered Hannah.

“I talked to Jeff only ten minutes before he died,” continued Clay, staring blankly off into the distance. “He…he didn’t want me to leave the party so early. He wanted me to hang out with him. Tried to get me to come with him on his beer run.”

Hannah’s breath caught in her throat. “You could have—”

“But I didn’t,” said Clay roughly. “He did and he shouldn’t have. Do you remember in the weeks after his death all the Don’t Drink and Drive posters they had plastered over the school? The lectures they gave us? The pamphlets on the dangers of impaired driving they handed out? Every damn person in this town believes Jeff Atkins died of his own reckless decisions. But he didn’t!”

His voice rose to a shout by the end and Hannah flinched. “Clay, I know—”

“You don’t,” said Clay tearfully. “I know you feel guilty he died. But at least that’s not on you—you tried. That’s on Sheri. But you could have come forward. Told someone the truth, asked them to keep your name out of it. Sheri didn’t deserve your protection.”

“I wasn’t protecting her!” cried Hannah. “I was already an outcast, Clay, and she would know I ratted her out.”

Clay jumped to his feet. “I’m an outcast too, Hannah! But who gives a damn about social status when there’s morality involved?”

“You don’t understand,” said Hannah with a small sob. “You didn’t then and you don’t now. The things that happened to me aren’t things that happened to you. It all stacked up, incident by incident, until I was too broken to do anything. I’m _sorry_ , Clay. I’m sorry, okay? I was too much of a coward to say anything.”

Clay pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes until his vision burned. He eventually removed them and blinked rapidly until the black spots went away. “I’m sorry, too,” he said after a long moment of silence. “You’re right. I…I can’t ever put myself in your shoes. But I feel your pain. Or I’m trying to, anyway. And when you tried to talk to me the day we all found out Jeff died I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I didn’t know.”

“Seems like there’s a lot of that going around these days,” said Hannah softly. “I…I know Jeff really meant something to you, even if you didn’t hang out often.”

Clay’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yeah. He was the only jock who _saw_ me, you know? He was determined to build up my confidence. To help me out.”

For the first time, the unresolved incident between him and Hannah had never felt more palatable. It bubbled fiercely below the surface, of stolen kisses and warmth and roaming hands and sharp hurt. It dangerously reached the tipping point and Clay’s lips parted, ready to finally break the unspoken rule they had formed between them.

Then Jeff’s face bloomed in his mind—the cheerful, carefree grin that had always put Clay at ease.

He swallowed heavily, forcing the emotions back. This wasn’t about him and her right now. This was about Jeff, who deserved justice as much as Hannah did.

“I’m going to talk to Sheri,” he spoke into the dark night, not looking in Hannah’s direction. “But I don’t care what she says. I’m telling people what happened.”

Hannah nodded. “Of course,” she whispered.

“Will you help me?”

She hesitantly extended her hand and relief filled her features when he grasped it, his fingers sliding through her transparent ones. “Of course,” she repeated.

“I better get back home before my mom does a bed check.” Clay slowly stood up, his legs wobbling. He pushed himself forwards, hauling his bike up from the ground. He swung himself over the seat and pedalled unsteadily back home, his vision going in and out of focus as his mind raced.

_“You’re a funny dude, Clay.”_

_“So I’ve been told. See you Monday?”_

_“Yeah. Good night.”_

_“Night.”_

Clay’s knuckles went white as he gripped his handlebars. _I’m sorry, Jeff,_ he thought desperately. _I’m sorry. But I’m going to make it right. I promise._

…

Clay didn’t get any sleep that night.

He dragged himself out of bed when his alarm blared. He hopped into the shower and stood under the hot water until his skin turned red. After rearranging his expression into something that wouldn’t concern his parents, he skipped downstairs.

“I’m heading to school early,” said Clay, poking his head into the kitchen.

“Don’t you want breakfast first?” asked Lainie from where she was cooking bacon on the stove.

“No thanks, I’ll just grab something from school. See you later!”

He hurried out the front door and grabbed his bike. He arrived at Liberty High a few minutes later and he locked his primary mode of transportation securely to the bike rack. He started for the entrance to the courtyard but hastily stilled when he spotted Marcus, Ryan, Alex, Zach and Courtney gathered at a stone table.

“I’ll meet up with you later,” said Hannah. “I should probably hear what they’re saying.”

“Good idea,” muttered Clay.

He turned on his heel and walked off. Hannah floated through the doors and approached the gathered group. Marcus stilled when the cold washed over him.

“I can’t believe you tried to frame him for weed,” Alex was saying in annoyance. “If it had worked, that would have gone on his—”

“Shut up,” said Marcus harshly, looking around wildly.

“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?” snapped Zach. “You’ve been acting freaked since yesterday.”

“I just don’t think we should be talking about this right now,” said Marcus through gritted teeth.

Ryan made a show of taking in their surroundings. “Yeah, he’s right. We wouldn’t want _nobody_ eavesdropping.”

“Look, just trust me on this,” said Marcus in a strained voice.

“Trust you?” said Ryan with a scoff. “After what you tried to do to Clay?”

“I am trying to get him to keep his mouth shut,” snapped Marcus, his eyes still darting to and fro, as if he thought he could detect where Hannah was lingering. “But that’s…going to be harder than I thought.”

“What do you mean?” asked Courtney in frustration. “Did he say something when you met him in the parking lot?”

“Yes,” said Marcus tightly. “But nothing you’re going to believe.”

“Try us,” said Ryan flatly.

Marcus gripped the table. Hannah’s eyebrows flew upwards. “Holy crap. He’s really going to tell them.”

“Clay is being haunted by Hannah’s ghost.”

For a moment, all he received were long, blank stares. “What. The. Hell?” spoke Zach incredulously. “What are you _on_?”

“I’m not,” hissed Marcus. “I saw it! We were in the parking lot and all the cars just started floating in the air! Hannah did it!”

Ryan pointed at him. “These tapes are seriously messing with your head. You must have had a psychotic episode.”

Marcus angrily slapped his palm against the table. “I didn’t! That’s the most screwed up thing! Clay told me no one would believe me if I tried to tell anyone. He said they would think I’m crazy.”

“You are,” said Courtney. “Seriously, Marcus, what are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything!” Marcus whirled around and pointed at Zach. “That basketball game you guys played recently, where you were completely destroyed. Could you get your hands on the ball?”

“N-no,” said Zach, furrowing his brow. “What’s that got to do—?”

“Because Hannah’s ghost was the one who kept the ball away from you,” insisted Marcus. “And Alex, when you and Justin and Zach tried to give him a ride, he escaped on his own, right? Because the car went haywire without you touching anything? That was Hannah too! Clay told me so.”

For a very, very brief moment, Alex and Zach looked at each other, fear creeping into their eyes as they considered Marcus’ words.

“Oh, knock it off,” said Courtney furiously. “There are no such things as ghosts!”

Zach shook his head hard to dispel his ludicrous thoughts. “Right. Yeah. She’s right, man. I don’t know what Clay said or did but you’re losing it.”

“Alex?” pressed Marcus.

Alex sighed. “Marcus, if Hannah really were a ghost, she’d make our lives a living hell.”

“She is! She’s just getting Clay to do it for her!”

“No,” said Alex firmly. “Clay is after us because we deserve it. Because he loved her more than anyone else in this school and he’s a damn decent human being unlike the rest of us.”

“Fine,” said Marcus, his fingers curling into fists. “Fine. Let that self-centered, lying witch overhear everything we say.”

Hannah very nearly sent Marcus flying across the courtyard before she collected herself. “No, no, he’s not going to bait me,” she said with a controlled breath. “I’m better than that.”

“Can we stop with the nonsense, please?” demanded Courtney. “What are we going to do now? Once Clay gets to the final tapes it’s over. He’s already promised to do something about Bryce.”

“Did Tony say anything?” Zach asked Ryan.

“Yup. He refuses to tell me where they are. He’s seeing this through to the end. But you know what? I don’t get it. Why are we defending a rapist?”

“Shut up,” snapped Marcus.

“I published a poem. He’s a rapist,” continued Ryan. “We were assholes. He’s a criminal.”

“Can you stop calling him that?” Zach asked.

“Why?” countered Alex. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Look, we don’t know if Hannah was telling the truth,” began Courtney.

“You are so in denial,” said Ryan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe you’d be a lot less stressed if you didn’t spend so much time in the closet.”

“Shut up,” snarled Courtney.

“If the tapes get out we’re all going down,” said Zach seriously. “It doesn’t matter if what we did was criminal or not. No one is going to care. They’re going to see us only for what we did to her.”

Ryan shrugged. “And Bryce will go to jail.”

“Do you really think that’s going to happen?”

“Why don’t we find out?” challenged Alex.

“Guys! Do you see what they’re doing to us?” demanded Marcus.

“Oh, do not tell me you’re referring to Clay and Hannah’s ghost,” said Ryan in bafflement.

“I am telling you—”

Courtney stood up, clutching her books to her chest. “We cannot let Clay pass on those tapes,” she said frostily. “We have to think of something. And Marcus? You need help.”

They began to depart, leaving a frustrated Marcus behind, and Hannah grinned slightly before flying off to look for Clay. She found him making tracks for the football field, where the cheerleaders were holding their morning practice.

“Well?” he asked.

“Marcus tried telling them about me.”

Clay whipped to stare at her. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. But they didn’t believe him. They think he’s crazy. But I guess you were right to worry he might say something.”

“Sometimes I don’t worry for nothing, you know,” muttered Clay. “They say anything about me?”

“That they need to find a way for you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Of course.”

As they entered the football field and started to climb the metal bleachers, Hannah asked, “How did you know she had practice today?”

“All club meeting times and days are posted on the school website,” replied Clay, dropping into a seat high up in the stadium.

“That’s creepy.”

“A little bit, yeah.”

For a moment Clay watched Sheri twirl, spin and twist around with the other cheerleaders. Eventually she faced his direction and she froze when she spotted him, a lone figure amongst a sea of shiny metal. He made a motion for her to come see him and even from his distance he could see her tense up. She shot a look over her shoulder to make sure her teammates weren’t watching before flashing him five fingers.

Five minutes. He would wait.

“Think she’ll come?” asked Hannah as Sheri grabbed her pom-poms and shuffled off the field towards the changing rooms.

“She better,” said Clay evenly.

True to her word, Sheri skipped up the steps towards him a few minutes later, dressed in a long, patterned sweater and skinny jeans. “You listened to my tape.”

“Yeah.”

Sheri swallowed hard. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

“We have to do something,” said Clay firmly.

“But it’s over now,” said Sheri insistently.

“Not for his family,” snapped Clay. “They think he died because he was driving drunk.”

“He _was_ driving drunk! For all we know that’s what caused the accident.”

“You _know_ it’s not,” said Clay furiously. “Because that stop sign wasn’t there he went straight through the intersection because he thought it was his right of way. He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t drunk when I talked to him before I left the party and before he went out on his beer run. He was in complete control of all his senses. He was sober enough to drive.”

Sheri took a shaking breath. “This is why I didn’t want you to listen to my tape.”

Clay gave a bitter smile. “You wanted to keep your secret. Just like everyone else.”

“No,” said Sheri, her eyes pleading. “I didn’t want you judging me for the worst thing I’ve ever done. The others know my secret. You’re different.”

“For someone who hardly talked to me over the course of the last few years, I don’t know if I believe that,” said Clay tiredly.

“What can I do? What can I do to keep you from going to the police?” asked Sheri desperately.

“Talk to his family,” said Clay immediately. “Talk to the man that got hurt. They all deserve to know what really happened.”

“I told you, we don’t know—”

“Jeff told me he was drinking soda and that he wasn’t drunk,” shouted Clay. “I asked him, Sheri. I asked him if he was good to go. He said yes. He _wouldn’t_ lie to me. Just like Hannah wouldn’t lie. But you and the others? You’re the liars.”

“Or is that what you want to believe?” cried Sheri. “That Hannah and Jeff could never betray you like that?”

“You didn’t—”

“I made the biggest mistake of my life,” interrupted Sheri, steamrolling forwards. “I am trying to keep it from ruining my life. Do you understand?”

“No,” said Clay bluntly.

Tears sprang to Sheri’s eyes. “I am trying to make up for it, Clay. I really am. Meet me after school. I’ll show you. Before you run to the police, please let me show you. I’m not like the others.”

“Fine,” said Clay reluctantly.

“I’ll text you the address.” She looked over her shoulder as the bell chimed. “Shoot, we’re late. We better go.”

“You go,” said Clay tiredly.

Sheri looked at him, hurt and regret in her eyes, and she left him alone. Clay looked around the empty field and bleachers. Hannah set her hand against his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I came here the first day at school after Jeff died,” muttered Clay. “Alex tried to comfort me.”

“He did?” asked Hannah in surprise.

“Yeah,” said Clay softly. “I had forgotten about that until now. He asked if I was sad. But I was angrier than anything. I thought it was his fault. I _did_ believe him, when he told me he wasn’t drunk. But after the accident, after what the police officers said…I really did think he lied to me. And that made me so angry, Hannah. Alex was right. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. Anger is easier than sadness. It burns me up from the inside but it’s easier to deal with. But it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“You had all the information everyone else had,” said Hannah quietly. “You couldn’t have known otherwise.”

“But I should have believed him,” whispered Clay. “No matter what anyone else said, I should have believed him.”

They sat in silence for a while, with Hannah struggling and failing with finding the words to comfort him. Giving in to defeat, which spread bitter and sickly through her chest, she stood. “Come on. You ought to get to class.”

“What’s the point?”

“For your future.”

Clay glanced at her, at the serious set to her features, and got his feet. “My future, huh?”

“You still have one, Clay. Even through all this, you still have one.”

…

After school Clay biked to the address Sheri had given him. His eyes went wide as he recognized the exterior. “No way.”

“What?” asked Hannah.

“The man that got hurt in the accident—this is his house. He was so insistent that someone tell his wife that I promised to do it. I ran all the way here to tell her what happened.”

“Do you think she’ll remember you?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Clay leaned his bike against the porch railing and climbed the steps. He hesitantly knocked against white-painted door. It swung open and an elderly lady regarded him. “Hi, Mrs. Cantrell,” greeted Clay.

“I’ll wait outside,” said Hannah. “I don’t want to freeze them.”

“Clay,” she said in delight. “Oh, come in!” She stepped aside to grant Clay entrance. “Sheri told us a Clay would be coming over.”

Clay blinked. “What?”

“Look who’s here!” Mrs. Cantrell called towards the stairs. “It’s Clay! He knows Sheri!”

Sheri and Mr. Cantrell appeared, with Sheri helping the man slowly down the steps. Sheri briefly made eye contact with him before looking away. “Clay,” said Mr. Cantrell with a smile. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks, Mr. Cantrell.”

“I love that you know each other,” said Mrs. Cantrell happily. “Sheri was just about to walk our dog.”

“I’ll be with you in a sec, Clay,” said Sheri.

“Would you like some cookies? I just baked some,” said Mrs. Cantrell.

Clay tried to politely decline but Mrs. Cantrell was already moving. He followed her into a quaint kitchen, watching as she piled some chocolate chip cookies onto a plate. As he snacked and made idle chatter, he watched Sheri move about.

Putting dishes in the harder-to-reach cupboards. Helping Mr. Cantrell get settled in his chair. Bending low to clear out the trash bins.

“She’s our little angel,” said Mrs. Cantrell fondly.

Clay gave an acknowledging hum. Angel wasn’t quite the descriptor he would have chosen.

When the dog was leashed up and ready to go, Clay tried to wash his dishes before leaving but Mrs. Cantrell shooed him out, telling him to stop by anytime. Sheri and Clay started off down the sidewalk with Hannah following after them. The dog whimpered and whined, shifting restlessly on his leash.

“It’s okay,” soothed Sheri, reaching down to pet him. “This is weird. He’s never acted like this before.”

“Dogs can sense ghosts,” said Hannah in bewilderment. “Good to know. Uh, I guess I’ll meet you back at your place? If that’s okay? Don’t want to keep freaking the dog out.”

Clay gave a tiny nod and Hannah flew off. The dog settled. “Must have caught a strange scent or something,” he muttered. “So how did you find the Cantrells?”

“His name was in the paper when they reported the accident,” said Sheri. “I found their address. The first time I stopped by, I just stood on the front porch. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. Mrs. Cantrell invited me in anyway. I just kept coming by, eating dinner with them and helping them around the house.”

“They like you.”

“Yeah. They’re like a second set of grandparents.”

“What you’re doing is nice,” said Clay slowly. “But it doesn’t change anything. They still think the accident was caused by a drunk driver, right?”

Sheri pursed her lips. “What good would it do to tell them now? Mr. Cantrell still has nightmares about it.”

“What about the Atkins’? Did you see them?”

“Not yet,” whispered Sheri. “I can’t face them. I will tell them someday, Clay, I promise. Just not now.”

“’Someday’ isn’t good enough. They’re hurting, Sheri.”

“How do you know?”

Clay whirled on her. “Because I hurt. Every single day since Jeff died, I _hurt_. Because I was so angry that he had done this to himself. Then I learned the truth and all I felt was guilt for being angry at his death when he didn’t deserve it. That’s how I know, Sheri.”

“I still don’t believe it was my fault,” said Sheri stiffly. “He could have been drunk, Clay. You don’t know for sure.”

Clay looked at her, long and hard. “You say you’re not like the others. But you are, Sheri. You are.”

He turned on his heel and strode off. “Where are you going?” Sheri cried. “Clay! Clay! _Please!_ ”

Clay kept walking. He didn’t look back. He seized his bike from the Cantrell’s property and rode off. His mind was a blur of thoughts and images, most of all Jeff’s smiling face.

When his attention returned to his surroundings, he wasn’t surprised to see himself at the infamous intersection. He collapsed to the ground, letting his bike fall on top of him. He buried his face in his hands.

_For your future._

If he told anyone, it would ruin Sheri’s future. It was be a stain on her record she would not be able to shake. Did she really deserve that?

_Yes no yes no yes no_

But he could not bring himself to let Jeff’s parents continue to think their son died because he was impaired. How could he explain what happened without revealing Sheri’s name? What if they questioned him about how he knew this information? What if they brought him to the police?

“Dude, you don’t look so good.”

Clay’s throat went dry. Very slowly, he lifted his head.

Jeff Atkins stood before him, his hands slung in the pockets of his jeans, his brow creased with concern.

The air around them remained moderate and Clay’s flesh was smooth and flat. It wasn’t Jeff’s ghost. Just another hallucination.

“I really am crazy,” he whispered.

“You’re not crazy,” rebuked Jeff. “You’re just going through some stuff, that’s all.”

“ _That’s_ an understatement.”

Jeff moved to sit beside him. “You worry too much, you know that?”

“I think, given the information I’ve learned over the past few days alone, I have a reason to worry,” muttered Clay. His face crumpled. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About Sheri?”

“She’s part of it, yeah.” He swallowed thickly. “I _know_ it’s her fault, Jeff. You would still be alive if she just called in her accident.”

“Maybe,” said Jeff carefully. “I could have been a bit more aware of my surroundings, too. I should have followed what they taught me in preschool. Look both ways before crossing the street.”

“You’re defending her?” demanded Clay.

“Sheri was my friend,” said Jeff lightly. “You know I always looked out for my friends.”

“But she—”

“Yeah. And it’s eating her up from the inside. You saw it. You’re just refusing to acknowledge it.”

“That’s a big word for you,” said Clay with a roll of his eyes.

Jeff grinned. “You taught it to me.”

“So you don’t want me to tell people what Sheri did?”

“I don’t think it’s your secret to tell,” said Jeff simply. “Not to everyone, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would appreciate it if you could tell my parents. Without dropping her name. I know it’s messing them up, thinking I drove drunk. But everyone else? They don’t need to know. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me.” Jeff looked out over the intersection, quiet and serene compared to the chaos of the night of the accident. “This is on her conscious, Clay. What she does or doesn’t do shows her character. Not yours. You don’t have to share everyone’s burdens.”

“When did you get to be so deep?” asked Clay in bewilderment.

Jeff winked. “I guess you rubbed off on me.” He stood, stretching his arms over his head, a carefree smile on his lips. “You’ve never let me down before, Clay. I know you won’t now. Good luck, man.”

And then he was gone.

Clay took a few deep breaths. Determination and resolve steeled his spine and he straightened, bringing his bike with him.

He knew what he had to do.

…

Sitting in the kitchen of the Atkins household, with his hands twisting nervously in his lap, Clay felt a pulse of doubt at his next actions. But that feeling vanished when he noticed the row of pictures lining the kitchen bar, all of them of Jeff.

“Clay, we’re so glad to finally meet you,” said Mrs. Atkins warmly, bringing out a plate of carrot cake from the kitchen.

The chocolate chip cookies from Mrs. Cantrell still sat heavy in his stomach. But he thought it would be rude to decline and he took the smallest piece. “Thanks,” he said softly, taking a few nibbles. The icing was sweet against his tongue and the cake practically melted in his mouth. “It’s really good.”

“Thank you.” She set the rest of the cake in the middle of the table. “Jeff was so fond of you. You helped him so much with his grades.”

“You’re the reason he got to keep playing ball,” added Mr. Atkins.

“Jeff did all the hard work,” mumbled Clay. “I just helped him polish up his material.”

“He couldn’t have done it without you,” spoke Mrs. Atkins. “You were a good friend to him.”

Mr. Atkins slid an accusatory glance towards Clay. “Though I do wonder why we’re just meeting you now if you were a good friend of his.”

“Harris,” said his wife reprovingly.

“It’s okay,” said Clay, feeling his neck heat up with embarrassment. “Um, he did ask me to hang out with him and stuff, but…but I have anxiety, and I’m not very good in social situations, so I mostly keep to myself. And Jeff was cool, you know? He was older and popular and a great baseball player and everyone liked him. I was just…nobody, really.”

“Not to him,” said Mrs. Atkins quietly.

Clay swallowed; a difficult feat given the lump that formed in his throat. “Yeah. He was different from the other jocks. They never usually gave me a first look, let alone a second one. But Jeff was different. Jeff was kind. And…and he helped me just as much as I helped him.”

He fell into an awkward silence. The information he wanted to give them weighed heavy on his shoulders, pushing him into a slouching position. Mrs. Atkins folded her hands on the table and asked gently, “What made you come see us, Clay?”

“I came to tell you something,” said Clay, pressing his fingers into the hard surface of the wooden table. The pressure that shot through his nerves staved off the anxiety enough for him to press on without faltering. “On the night of the accident I was the one who discovered the scene. I heard the crash when I was walking home. I found Jeff.”

_Blood blood everywhere he wasn’t breathing—_

Tears sprang to his eyes.

“I tried to get the door open, to try CPR on him. But it was stuck. I called 911.”

Mr. Atkins leaned forwards, his expression intent. “You were there with him. At that party.”

“Yes sir. Jeff was actually the one who convinced me to go. I talked to him just before he left. I asked him if he was good to drive. He told me yes. Assured me he wasn’t drunk. He didn’t look it and I believed him.” Clay forced himself to make eye contact with Jeff’s parents. “It wasn’t his fault. The stop sign at that corner had been knocked down earlier in the evening. But the cops saw the beer in his car and thought he’d been driving impaired.”

Mrs. Atkins gave a soft sob of mingled grief and relief. Mr. Atkins blinked rapidly. His eyes expressed that a horrible burden had just been lifted from his very soul.

“I’m sorry,” said Clay tearfully.

“Why are you apologizing?” asked Mr. Atkins. “Did you knock down the stop sign?”

“No! No. I’ve just been so angry at Jeff since he died. I thought he lied to me. I hated him for leaving me that way but I was wrong. I was wrong.” He took a shaking breath. “And…and after I realized I was wrong, I had to come speak to you. Just…just in case you were angry, too.”

There was a moment of silence, punctured by sniffling. Mrs. Atkins leaned forwards and wrapped her hand over Clay’s trembling fingers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” whispered Clay. He scrubbed at his eyes, put the last piece of cake into his mouth and stood. “Um, I can wash this—”

“Don’t worry about it,” interrupted Mrs. Atkins.

“Okay. I should get going. My parents will be wondering where I am.”

He braced himself for the questions—but they didn’t come. They simply thanked him one more time and bid him goodbye.

Clay very nearly collapsed once he was out of their house. But he caught himself by his hands and forced himself to stand. He gripped his bike and started rolling it home, unable to muster the strength and balance needed to ride it.

He wrangled his phone out of his pocket.

**_I told the Atkins about the stop sign but not who was responsible. That’s on you and your conscious._ **

He sent it off to Sheri and ignored the resulting _ping_ as she answered.

“Hey, Helmet.”

Clay glanced over to see Hannah landing neatly beside him. “Hey.”

“You good? I thought you would have been home already.”

“I talked with Jeff’s parents,” said Clay. “I told them what happened but not who did it.”

“They didn’t ask?”

“No.”

Hannah tilted her chin and the soft orange and pink rays of the setting sun dusted her shimmering form. “No, I suppose not. That’s not what’s important to them.”

“Hannah?”

“Yeah?”

“When you…when you move on…if you see Jeff, can you tell him I’m sorry?” Clay whispered; his voice thick with emotion. “And…and thank him for everything he did for me?”

“I will. I promise.” Hannah bit her lip and raked her fingers through her hair. “You…you should probably call Tony. Let him know whose tape you finished.”

Clay’s heart began to pound like a viciously-beaten drum. “Why?”

He knew the answer. He just wanted to see if she would give it.

Hannah swallowed, fear and terror and grief and anguish colliding within her.

_I’m not ready._

But she knew he wasn’t ready either.

This is what she had wrought. She would see it through to the end. No matter how much it hurt her.

She broke her own rules.

“Your tape is next.”


	14. You

“No.”

“Clay—”

“I don’t want to listen to it with Tony,” snapped Clay, his entire body trembling. “You said we would listen to your tapes together. Now that mine is up, you want to leave? Is what I did that horrible?”

“I’m not going to leave you,” said Hannah vehemently. “But I think it would be a good idea to have someone…someone alive be there.”

_Someone who can actually hold you._

Clay clenched the handlebars of his bike. The pain and pressure pierced through his vortex of thoughts, allowing him to get a clumsy hold on reality. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You know I can’t,” said Hannah tightly.

“Aren’t I different?” demanded Clay. “Do you really have to lump me in with the others? Why do I have to listen to my tape? Why can’t you just tell me?”

“I made the tape for you, Clay,” said Hannah in a measured voice. “Yeah, everyone else got to listen to it, but I made it for _you_. All the thoughts, all the feelings I poured into that one cassette tape isn’t something I can replicate here and now. It won’t be the same. I _need_ you to listen to it, Clay. I think you need to listen to it too.”

Clay gritted his teeth, glaring at the ground, focussing hard on his breathing techniques. “Fine,” he ground out. “Fine. I’ll call Tony. But on one condition. He stays in the car. We listen to it together.”

“Of course.”

Clay dug out his cell phone and brought up Tony’s contact information with shaking fingers. Tony answered on the first ring. “What’s up, Clay?”

“I just thought I should let you know that I just finished Sheri’s tape,” said Clay, trying to keep his voice even.

“Where are you?”

The seriousness and urgency in his tone caused Clay’s stomach to dip. He gave Tony an address, one that was a block or so away from the Atkins residence. He wasn’t in the mood to answer any questions Tony might have had about his presence there.

“Just stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

“Okay.”

Clay hung up and continued walking his bike down the street. His legs felt like jelly and Hannah had gone completely silent. He tried to steal some glances at her expression, but she was staring steadfastly at the ground, her long hair covering her face.

They came to a halt when they reached the corner where Tony would meet him. Clay tried to brace himself, tried to imagine all the things he had said or done to contribute to Hannah’s death. But such imaginings only made him feel infinitely worse.

Tony’s car squealed down the street five minutes later. He popped open the trunk and climbed out of the vehicle. “We can put your bike in the back.”

When his bike was securely stowed away, Clay slid into the passenger’s seat. “You’re not going to ask why I called?” he asked.

“I already know,” said Tony softly. “You beat me to it, actually. I’m glad you called me, Clay.”

Clay didn’t say anything. He just stared out the window, watching as the first stars began to twinkle in the sky. His chest ached and his stomach rolled viciously. Something was crawling into his throat, something intangible but very real, and sweat broke out on his brow. He frantically cranked the handle to put the window down.

“I’m gonna be sick,” he wheezed. “I can’t do this.”

Hannah could only watch Clay crumble as she drowned in her guilt, helpless to do anything to comfort him. She couldn’t touch him. She couldn’t find any words to soothe him. All that had to be said in that moment was in his tape. The agony he was experiencing would be no less sharp when he finished, but she could only hope it wouldn’t be so encompassing.

“Relax,” said Tony firmly. “We’re gonna get you something to eat, you’re going to calm down, and then we’ll do this.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Too bad.”

He pulled up outside of Monet’s. Clay stumbled from the car and followed Tony into the café. When they stepped over the threshold the scents of coffee and pastries and sandwiches greeted them. They caused Clay’s stomach to roll and he pressed a hand against it.

“I really think I’m going to throw up,” he rasped.

“Food is going to help,” said Tony. “You need the nutrients and the energy. What do you want?”

“I dunno,” said Clay. His head was spinning.

“I’ll order for you. Go get us a seat.”

He gave Clay a gentle push and he wandered blindly over to the first available table. He dropped heavily into the chair. Hannah stood behind him, her hands hovering over his shoulders. “It’s going to be okay, Clay.”

“How is any of this okay?” said Clay, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Just _trust_ me, please,” pleaded Hannah.

Clay did trust her. But he had listened to her other tapes. Each one had been more heartrending than the last. None of them turned out okay. He failed to see how his could possibly be any different.

_What did I do what did I do what did I do_

The sound of chair legs squeaking against wood caused Clay to look up. Tony handed him a glass of water and ordered, “Drink.”

Clay obeyed. He drained half the glass before letting it thunk back against the tabletop. “Good. Now put your head down for a second.”

Clay didn’t need to be told twice. He pressed his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He was distracted from his rhythm a few minutes later when Skye approached with the food.

“A prosciutto mozzarella with red peppers and a turkey with a dab of mayo and a dab of mustard.”

“Thanks,” said Clay weakly.

“You look awful,” said Skye, raising a brow at his white face.

“He’s just working through some stuff,” said Tony, taking a sip of his water.

Skye tilted her head to the side, studying the boy. “There’s a truth you don’t want to face.”

Clay snapped his gaze up to meet hers. “How do you know that?” he demanded.

“I can see the future,” she replied flippantly. “I told you yours in the seventh grade, remember?”

“You said I wouldn’t be five feet, two inches forever.”

“And you aren’t,” said Skye with a grin. “I’ve got my Tarot cards with me. Want a reading? There might be a message from the great beyond.”

Clay snorted. Hannah managed to crack a smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“No, it’s not that—”

“Then come on. I’ll be back.”

She swept off to get her cards and Clay let out an agitated sigh. He took one large bite of his sandwich and gulped down more water before she returned. He joined her at another table, aware of Tony’s bemused gaze. He followed her instructions and shuffled the cards. When he cut the deck, she spread them out and started selecting certain ones, turning them face-up.

She studied them for a moment. “This is the nine of wands, which is reversed. It means you feel the world is against you. The hermit is also reversed. You feel alone.”

“Who doesn’t?” asked Clay bitterly.

“The ten of swords. You keep falling back into the pain of the past. You can’t move on.”

“Does she know you that well or is there really some future power to these cards?” asked Hannah.

Clay’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing, Skye?”

“The page of cups,” continued Skye, ignoring him. “This shows that someone is struggling inside. They’re tortured.”

“You’re talking about Hannah.”

“I’m just reading your cards.”

“Every time I come in here, you always have some snide comment to make,” said Clay in irritation. “What did I do to you? You’re the one who stopped talking to me.”

“I got the hint when you saw me in the hall freshman year and ignored me,” said Skye coldly.

“You changed. You were different. I didn’t know what to say.”

“I’m not the only one who changed. You used to be cool, Clay.”

“Yeah, well, you used to be nice.”

Skye’s smile was sour. “Not all girls are nice like Sheri and Hannah.”

“What do you know about Hannah?” asked Clay tightly. “You never even exchanged a word with her.”

“That’s because she ignored me.”

“Probably because you give off a vibe that isn’t exactly welcoming.”

Skye’s temper flared. “What I know is that what Hannah did was stupid. We all go through crap. We make it through to the other side.”

“I get that you’re suffering, just as much as Hannah was. Don’t think I haven’t seen the marks. But don’t you dare call her stupid,” said Clay furiously. “You have no idea. No freaking idea.”

“And you did?” countered Skye.

“Yes. She was my best friend.”

“Your best friend was weak,” said Skye scathingly.

Clay stood up so fast that his legs knocked into the table and sent it sliding. “And you’re pathetic.”

He stormed out of the café and Tony was quick to follow. He unlocked his car and Clay wasted no time in getting inside, angrily slamming the door shut behind him. “I can’t believe her. Who does she think she is? She didn’t know anything about Hannah.”

“And I don’t think you really know anything about Skye, Clay.”

“He’s right,” said Hannah quietly. “So is Skye. I didn’t make any effort to get to know her. I treated her how people later treated me.”

Clay pursed his lips. “None of this is making me feel better.”

“Eat the rest of your sandwich.”

Tony handed him the food and Clay moodily munched on it. Tony drove through the streets, letting Clay finish his meal with the wind rushing through his hair. When he was done, Tony asked, “How’re you feeling?”

“Less like I want to rip someone’s head off,” muttered Clay.

“Okay. That’s good. Is there somewhere you want to go? To listen?”

“Yeah,” said Clay softly. “Crestmont’s alley.”

“Sure thing.”

When the theater came into view, Clay’s chest squeezed, because he knew it was finally time. There was no more putting it off. Tony pulled alongside the curb and asked gently, “Do you want to listen in here?”

“No. I’m gonna go out there. Um, I’d rather go alone, but can you—”

“I’m here when you need me, Clay. Take your time. We’ve got all night.” He paused before saying, “Give me your phone. I’ll tell your parents something so they won’t worry.”

“Thanks.”

Clay slowly stepped out of the car and down the narrow alley. He dropped into one of the beaten chairs, the one he used every time on his lunch breaks. Hannah eased into hers, folding her hands in her lap. For a moment, there was silence.

His heart raced in his chest. If Hannah still had a heart, it would have felt like it was going to explode.

“Why here?” whispered Hannah.

“Because our time together in this alley is what I looked forward to the most when we worked together,” he said shakily.

He pulled the Walkman out of his bag. He shrugged on his headphones. He looked at Hannah and found his terror, agony and angst reflected in her blue eyes.

With his stomach performing acrobatic flips, he started the tape—his tape.

_“I’ve told you about two of the worst decisions I ever made, and the damage left behind. The people who got hurt. There’s one more story to tell. One more bad decision. And this one is all on me. No…it wasn’t the decision to go to the party. How could I have known? But it was the same night. The same awful night. This one is all about you, Clay.”_

Clay’s hands shook. The chill he was feeling in his spine had nothing to do with Hannah’s presence.

_“Clay, I know you’re asking yourself why you’re on these tapes. What could you possibly have done? What else could have happened on the night of Jessica’s party?”_

He experienced a very strange and strong urge to burst into hysterical laughter. He’d only spent the last couple of weeks with these thoughts plaguing his mind, consuming him in the dark of the night and the bright light of day. She made the statement as if she were reading a fact from a textbook and not as if it were a thing that would bring him great distress and anguish.

But he swallowed back the bitter laugh and it slid sourly down his throat.

He remembered the last normal conversation they had had, before the complication of kisses and hormones. He had been unlocking his bike and she had been standing above him, bathed in afternoon sunlight. Their banter, as it always did, teetered on the line between friendly and flirty. He had left her with the belief he would be going to Jessica’s party solo, riding down the street with his arm raised in the air with a mock war cry, and her laughter had echoed behind him.

_“Part of me wanted you to ask me to the party again. The other part of me was telling me not to go. Not even for you, Clay. I should have listened. I never told you this, but I always admired you. You are who you are and you don’t care. I always cared what other people thought of me. I just tried to act like I didn’t. Is that a boy/girl thing or a Clay/Hannah thing?”_

Clay gave a wry smile at that. No, perhaps he didn’t really care what other people thought of him. It was probably the reason why he had so few friends. He was a nerd, a dork, a social outcast, and he knew it.

“What could you have possibly admired about me?” he asked hollowly. “Yeah, so I didn’t care what people thought of me. But I spent most of my lunches alone because of it.”

“People like you, Clay,” said Hannah. “And even if they try to start crap about you, you just brush it off. You are so unashamedly you in a world of people trying so desperately to be what they’re not.” At the skepticism on his face, she smiled softly. “And you can’t see it, because you live with yourself, and it’s always easier to see our negative qualities than our best ones.”

“You’re wrong,” muttered Clay, letting his eyes fall back on the Walkman. “I did care about what one person thought.”

Hannah lowered her chin. “I know,” she whispered.

Clay’s throat constricted. He continued the tape and didn’t understand how he could hear past Hannah’s narration over the blood roaring in his ears. He knew what was coming, he _knew_ , and soon their unspoken rule was about to be splintered and he wasn’t ready for it but he couldn’t stop listening.

He had to know. As tortuous as all these emotions swirling in his stomach were, he had to know.

He needed the answer to his unrelenting question—what had he done?

_“I bet you also wish you’d never gone to Jessica’s. Right, Clay?”_

For a moment, Clay’s heart stopped. Pain reared its ugly head. It pierced his chest and clogged his airway. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. But he couldn’t. For days after that party, he’d wished he had just stayed home. Wished he hadn’t ruined their friendship with his advances, which had been unwanted. She wasn’t completely right—he didn’t totally regret that night. But she wasn’t completely wrong, either.

The damp, dirty alley dissolved and Clay could picture Jessica’s living room in his mind perfectly. The music thumped through the room, vibrated beneath his feet and the smell of beer was strong. He remembered how he had felt when he first saw her step through the front door. Absolute joy followed by wild panic.

He had fled.

But Jeff had intercepted him, a knowing glint in his eyes. He had refused to let Clay leave. Refused to let his lack of self-confidence and fear dictate his actions. Jeff had delivered wisdom loaded with baseball terminology and ordered him back inside to talk to Hannah.

There was a part of Clay that wished Jeff had just let him go. But there was a bigger part that loved him for what he had done.

_“I’d talked to you a million times before but tonight was different. I didn’t know what to say to you. When you finally came up to me, you knew exactly how to break the ice. I was so nervous that night but you made it seem so easy.”_

Clay could not help but laugh out loud at that. Hannah looked at him quizzically. “I made it seem easy,” he echoed. “I was crapping my pants, Hannah.”

“Me too, if I’m honest,” said Hannah with a soft chuckle.

“I don’t think me obviously stating that you were sitting on the couch counts as breaking the ice.”

“It definitely does. And it worked.”

_Not well enough,_ thought Clay.

He felt so _odd_. Recollecting that night brought up such conflicting feelings—sadness, fondness, happiness and sorrow. How could he feel all of these at once? Why did he want to laugh and cry at the same time?

They had gone outside to try and escape the craziness and drunkenness of the crowd pressed together within the four walls of Jessica’s kitchen. They had settled into two empty lawn chairs near the beer pong table. Jeff had been there, and he stolen not-so-subtle looks in their direction. Hannah had noticed.

_“You said that Jeff took an interest in your social life, Clay. I asked you what he tutored you in. Do you remember what you said?”_

_Girl. Singular._

He had taken the plunge. He remembered the look Hannah had given him—pleased and flattered and affectionate. Clay’s heart had soared. It had given him the confidence to ask her inside the house and to take her hand.

To lead her upstairs and—

Clay yanked off his headphones. Hannah startled at the aggression in his action before settling a hand against his wrist. “Hey, hey, it’s okay! Take a break if you need to.”

Clay dragged in breaths. “Is…is everything about that night on this?” he wheezed.

“Yes,” said Hannah quietly.

“That means Justin, Zach, Alex and everyone else listened to it?”

Hannah winced. “Yeah.”

Clay groaned, burying his head in his hands.

_I can’t do this I can’t finish what does she say?_

But for so long, he had wondered why she did what she did. Now he was finally going to get the answer, among others. He had to know, even if it would tear him apart.

He screwed his eyes shut and pressed onwards.

_“So, let’s start with the part of the party I left out.”_

They had gone to Jessica’s room, where he first learned of Hannah’s friendship with the popular girl. They had joked around with Jessica’s pet rock collection and, consumed by his affection and love, he kissed her.

People spoke about sparks and fireworks when kissing someone. Combine fireworks, sparks and electricity and multiply it by tenfold and that was what Clay experienced. Their lips had fit together as if they were meant to be. Her hand had come up to rest against his neck and slowly they had lowered on top of Jessica’s bed in a haze of warmth and tenderness.

It had been going so well.

_“The moment was perfect. For the first time in a long time, I could imagine a future where I was happy. The parts that make life worth living.”_

The images of a future that would never be flooded his mind. His arm around her shoulders as they walked down the halls of Liberty High, with Alex, Jessica, Justin and the rest watching them ruminate in their bliss. His hand folded in hers as they sat on the couch in her living room, chatting with her mother and father.

Tears sprung to his eyes and his shoulders began to quake.

_“And I know you felt it too. I wanted you to do everything you were doing, so I don’t know why my mind took me everywhere else. I thought about every other guy and they all became you.”_

Justin ruining the magic of her first kiss and her reputation.

Monty’s obscene questions at the winter formal.

Bryce grabbing her ass.

Marcus’ unwanted advances and his cruelty when she rejected him.

He hadn’t understood why she pushed him away. Why she had screamed at him to leave. He had thought he had done something wrong. And maybe he had, with his insensitive remarks about what she had endured each time she tried to open up to him. But it was more than that—it was how she had been treated as an object by the entire student body.

He had tried to apologize. Tried to understand what made her upset. But he hadn’t tried hard enough. She had asked him to go.

So he had.

_“Part of me wanted to beg you to stay. Part of me never wanted to see you again. But you walked out the door like I told you too. Why did you have to leave? It was the worst thing ever.”_

He had left her there, partly drunk and emotionally distressed in that room.

_“Then it got worse.”_

He could have helped her. Maybe he could have helped Jessica, too.

_“Clay…Helmet…”_

The voice in his headphones grew tender. It wobbled with emotion. A crack formed in his heart.

_“Your name does not belong on this list. But you need to be here if I’m going to tell my story. If I’m going to explain why I did what I did. Because you aren’t every other guy. You’re different. You’re good and kind and decent. And I didn’t deserve to be with someone like you.”_

“No…no…no,” said Clay desperately.

The tears spilled down his cheeks. Hannah pressed a hand over her mouth, her eyes bright, and her entire body shook with suppressed sobs.

_“I never would. I would have ruined you. It wasn’t you. It was me and everything that’s happened to me.”_

The tape clicked off and Clay ripped the headphones off his head. He sent them flying to the other side of the alley and the Walkman clattered against the cement.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he sobbed. “Why didn’t you tell me it was my fault? You needed me and I walked away.”

“You just did what I told you to do,” said Hannah, her voice cracking. “It’s not your fault, Clay.”

“It is! I should have stayed. But I was scared so I ran. I thought I had done something to upset you and I didn’t understand because I don’t know anything about girls.”

He couldn’t see. He was crying so hard his vision was a blur of mixed colours. His heart was splintering into thousands of pieces and it _hurt so much_. He didn’t think it would ever be whole again.

Hannah’s entire being swelled with sorrow and angst. She wept without tears, for the one thing she wanted most of all but refused to let herself have. Because she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve him.

“It all started with me,” said Clay brokenly. “If I hadn’t left you, we could have been there for Jessica, and Sheri wouldn’t have knocked over the stop sign and Jeff would still be here.”

“No, Clay,” said Hannah wretchedly. “I made this tape to tell you none of this is your fault.”

“I could have done so much more. I never should have left. I should have stayed. Refused to go until you told me what was wrong.”

“You were so kind and gentle, Clay. You did what no guy did for me before. You did what I wanted, what you thought would make me feel better.” Hannah gripped his hand, her fingers phasing right through his. “You did exactly what I asked.”

Her cold barely penetrated through his despair. He replayed the scenario in his head, following all the what-ifs. What if he had sat beside Hannah, ignoring her demands to get the hell out? What if he had just sat with her until she calmed down? What if he had been more persistent in figuring out what had upset her?

“I wouldn’t have cared what people might have thought,” he croaked.

“But I cared,” whispered Hannah. “I was the class slut. I couldn’t have my reputation have any impact on yours. I couldn’t stand to be with you and watch as you realized everyone else was right about me.”

“They’re wrong! You’re not the class slut, Hannah. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything I said that made you think I believed that. For what I said about that stupid picture. I was just so angry then. Because Justin had gotten your first kiss. Because you wanted him and not me and I was an asshole. A complete asshole. I…I love you. And I would never have hurt you.”

Hannah whipped to stare at him. He turned fully to face her, rapidly blinking to try and clear the tears from his eyes. She was looking him with tender awe, her chin wobbling and her breath hitching. “I love you, Hannah Baker,” Clay said tremulously. “And I’m so sorry I never told you while you were alive.”

“I love you too, Clay Jensen.”

She flung her arms around him and for the first time they let their grief overcome them. Their cries mingled in the night air and his tears soaked his face as they mourned what they had lost and what would never be. They lost their words, only able to repeat apologies over and over, for all that had been said too late and the pain they had put each other through.

A car door slammed and Hannah reluctantly pulled away, scrubbing madly at her eyes which held tears that couldn’t be shed. “Talk to him,” she croaked. “He loves you so much, Clay.”

Tony sprinted over to Clay. “I told you to come get me,” he said fiercely, gripping Clay’s shaking shoulder.

“I loved her, Tony,” wept Clay.

“I know, man.”

“I couldn’t tell her, then. I couldn’t hold her. I just left her there. I killed her.”

“We all did,” said Tony sharply. “You did what she wanted you to do, Clay. That’s more than any guy ever did before.”

“You didn’t kill me,” said Hannah desperately. “Clay, I promise you, you didn’t kill me.”

Clay didn’t believe her. He didn’t know how he could.

“Can I hug you?” he whispered, clinging to Tony’s jacket.

The next second he was in Tony’s arms. His body was warm and solid and alive and Clay held onto him with all his strength. He wailed into his shoulder, his chest aching so deeply he didn’t know if it would ever stop.

“You’re going to get through this,” said Tony softly, cupping the back of Clay’s neck. “I’m going to help you get through this. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” whimpered Clay.

They stayed in their embrace for a long moment before Clay slowly stepped away. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was a complete mess. “You want to crash at my place tonight?” asked Tony, his hand staying on Clay’s arm.

“No,” said Clay, swaying slightly on his feet. “No. I’d like to go home.”

He was silent on the ride back. His mind felt like a swamp, sluggish and thick with fog. Tony pulled up to the curb across from his house and he regarded his friend intently. “If I let you out of this car, are you going to do something stupid?”

“No,” whispered Clay.

“Promise me.”

“I promise, Tony.”

Tony gave a slow nod. “Okay. I’m going to be here tomorrow at eight to pick you up for school. If you need to talk throughout the rest of the night, you call me.”

“I will.” Clay climbed out of the car, his entire body feeling like it was weighed down. Before he shut the door, he said, “I love you, Tony.”

Tony’s surprise was quickly chased away by deep affection. “I love you too, man. Go inside, drink some water, try to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Bye.”

He wandered up the steps to his house and unlocked the front door. He stepped over the threshold and Hannah followed quietly after him. He was about to walk past the entry to the living room when his mother looked up from her newspaper.

“You’re back sooner than we expected. How did tutoring Tony go?”

Clay turned to face them. Upon seeing the state he was in his parents jumped to their feet. “What’s wrong?” asked Matt urgently.

“I miss Hannah,” said Clay brokenly.

He dissolved into fresh sobs and he buckled to the floor. His parents rushed towards him, gathering him into their arms and rocking him like they did when he was a child. He held them, anchored himself to them, and as he wished for the pain to just disappear he had a sudden insight into what Hannah might have been feeling while she was alive.

And the girl whose soul was bound to the earthly world without a body watched. She watched the boy she loved suffer in the loving grip of his parents. Bowing her head, she floated up through the ceiling to wait in Clay’s room, and mourn the comfort she could not give for all the pain and heartbreak she had made him endure.


	15. Violated

When Clay finally straggled back to his room, his eyes were bloodshot and his face was blotchy and streaked with dried tears. He had zero energy to clean himself up or change into his pajamas and he collapsed directly into his bed. He turned to look at Hannah, who sat on his couch, her blue eyes glimmering as she regarded him uncertainly.

He extended a hand towards her, his expression beseeching, and she promptly went over to him. She crawled beside him and they lay shoulder to shoulder, her fingers sliding through his. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“I feel…kinda broken,” said Clay hoarsely. “There’s this sadness in me that feels so deep and endless.”

Hannah closed her eyes. She knew exactly what that felt like. “I’m sorry, Clay.”

“I think we’ve done enough apologizing for one night,” said Clay with a dry chuckle. “I don’t think it’s making either of us feel any better.”

“It’s not.”

Clay swallowed, the lump in his throat having yet to decrease in size. “I just…where do we go from here?”

Hannah let out a slow breath. “Well…I think, deep down, we both knew we loved each other. We both knew what was lost. We’ve been dancing around the subject ever since we were reunited.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Clay with a snort.

“So I guess…we stop dancing?” said Hannah unsurely. “We’ve been pretty good so far about being open with each other. We’re just going to have to do the same with this, too. We can’t keep it hidden or locked up.”

“What’s more to talk about?” asked Clay. “Everything has already been said.”

“Maybe. But this…the feelings we both have right now, all these confusing and powerful and overwhelming emotions, they aren’t going to go away in one night. They might ebb and we might feel okay, but they’ll be simmering until they rise like a wave again. Trust me.”

“So we talk when the wave becomes too much?”

“Yeah.” Hannah turned her head to look at him, her brow furrowed and her eyes serious. “Clay, I need you to believe me when I say it’s not your fault I died.”

“How do I believe that?” asked Clay, a note of desperation in his voice.

“Because I really don’t know if it would have saved me,” said Hannah softly. “I do love you, Clay. But like I said on your tape, it’s not you. It’s me. Even knowing I loved you, and being pretty sure that you felt strongly about me, it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t keep going. That’s not on you.”

Clay was quiet for a long moment, his gaze staring blankly at the dark ceiling. He was too worn out to cry again, but the grief settled low and heavy in his gut. “That makes me sadder,” he said honestly.

“Me too,” whispered Hannah.

“Is…is there a part of you that regrets it?”

“A small part of me wishes, from time to time, that I had tried harder to keep going, to get help,” said Hannah carefully. “But what’s done is done. We can’t go backwards.”

“We can’t,” agreed Clay, trying to keep the stiffness out of his voice.

The problem with that was that he didn’t know how he’d be able to go forwards.

…

The emotional and mental exhaustion allowed Clay to catch a few hours of sleep. His alarm blared, disturbing his slumber far too soon for his liking. He glared at it and smacked at the button, grudgingly pulling himself out of bed.

Hannah stirred beside him, her long brown hair tumbling over her face. Clay paused and watched as she raked the strands away from her eyes. “I wonder why your hair is that long when you…”

He trailed off but Hannah knew what he was getting at. “When I died with short hair? I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It probably has some deep meaning that I can’t begin to fathom right now. Something about my true self, maybe?”

“That sounds about right,” mumbled Clay.

He mustered the motivation to have a shower and dressed in a clean set of clothes. Feeling marginally better after freshening up, he went downstairs with Hannah floating behind him. The scents of French toast and pancakes greeted him and he entered the kitchen to see a sweet breakfast spread.

“This is a lot of sugar for the morning,” he commented.

“I thought we could all use a boost,” said Lainie. She tipped the rest of the blueberry pancakes onto the platter set in the middle of the table before going over to her son. She lightly ran her fingers through his hair, her expression concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“Still sad,” said Clay with a tired smile. “Still missing her.”

“We can look into meeting with a grief counsellor, if you want,” encouraged Lainie.

Clay shook his head. “No, I…I don’t really want to talk to anyone right now. Yesterday was just a bad day.”

Matt and Lainie exchanged a glance. “Okay,” said Lainie reluctantly. “But if you need to talk—”

“Like I told Mr. Porter, I promise I will let someone know if it becomes too much,” said Clay, trying to reign in his annoyance. He knew his parents were only pressing because they were worried about him.

“You talked to Mr. Porter?” asked Lainie with surprise.

“Yeah.”

For the sake of not smacking away the relief that formed on his mother’s face, Clay did not tell her the reason for his meeting with Porter.

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetie,” she said warmly.

“We’d like it if you spoke about Hannah, once in a while,” spoke Matt carefully. “It’s clear she was important to you.”

“I will,” said Clay.

He sat down and started to pile some fruit and French toast onto his plate. He doused the French toast with syrup and, after a few forkfuls, his mother cleared her throat, catching his attention. “Clay, the Bakers turned down a settlement offer from the school yesterday. The case is going to trial. Their lawyer already issued deposition subpoenas. I reviewed the list of names. Quite a few of your classmates are on it.”

Clay refrained from shooting Hannah a worried glance. “Am I on it?”

“Yes,” said Lainie softly.

“I have to testify,” clarified Clay.

“It’s really just an interview. But you don’t have to worry. I’ll prepare you for the questions they’ll be asking. They’ll mostly have to do with your relationship with Hannah.”

Clay flinched. “Great.”

“I know it’ll be hard,” said Lainie, reaching over the dish of butter to squeeze his hand. “But all you have to do is be honest.”

_Right. Because that will be easy._

This news did nothing to alleviate the stress twisting Clay’s stomach. He choked down a few more pieces of fruit before pushing away from the table. “Tony’s going to be picking me up soon. I’m going to wait for him outside.”

To give his parents a peace of mind, he hugged and kissed them goodbye and promised to keep in touch if he wouldn’t be home right away. As he was grabbing his backpack a knock sounded on the front door, brisk and professional.

“I…uh…think one of you better get that,” muttered Clay.

Lainie opened the door to reveal a police officer standing on the other side. After delivering his spiel, he handed over a manilla envelope with Clay’s name on it. Lainie reviewed the document with her son leaning over her shoulder.

“What does it say?”

“Mostly law jargon,” replied Lainie. “The important bit is the date and time of your deposition.”

She indicated the information with her index finger and Clay said, “I have a while.”

“Like I said, I’ll go over everything with you,” said Lainie, rubbing his back. “Okay?”

“Okay. See you guys later.”

He ventured out onto the porch, the sunlight shining far too brightly given the mood of the morning. Hannah crossed her arms and said wearily, “This complicates things.”

Clay arched a brow. “Things were already complicated.”

“Fair point. Who do you think got one?”

“Probably everyone who ever spent a second chatting to you,” said Clay with a frown. “Justin, Courtney, Jessica, Alex—they all had to have been subpoenaed.”

“They are going to be super freaked,” muttered Hannah. “I honestly didn’t think my parents would do anything like this.”

“Why not?” Clay asked. “Of course they want justice for their child. And since you didn’t give them any answers, they’re fishing for them themselves.” When Hannah flinched, her expression one of hurt, he said quickly, “That came out—”

“Right,” interrupted Hannah. “It came out right. I made the wrong decision. I should have left them a note.”

_You’ve made a few wrong decisions,_ thought Clay, but this time he kept his mouth shut.

Tony pulled up to the curb a few minutes later and Clay climbed into the car. “Did you get a subpoena this morning?”

“Yup. Ruined a perfectly good breakfast.”

“Crap,” said Clay, his head falling against the seat. “Now what?”

“Not much we can do,” said Tony, switching the gearshift to ‘drive’ and easing back onto the street. “We go to our depositions and answer their questions.”

“But we can’t lie. That’s perjury.”

“Then we pray that they don’t ask us anything related to the content on Hannah’s tapes,” said Tony grimly.

They arrived at Liberty High and when they entered the building, they went their separate ways to get ready for class. As he rounded a corner Clay saw Tyler being held against the wall by Monty while Bryce tried to calm the situation. Marcus and Courtney were walking away, but as Marcus shifted a glance over his shoulder, he spotted Clay and his gaze went cold as ice.

“This is the last thing I need,” said Clay flatly.

“Keep an eye out,” said Hannah with a frown. “They’re going to be on edge today.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” said Clay sarcastically.

It was easy to keep alert with Hannah by his side. With two pairs of eyes constantly on the lookout Clay managed to avoid Marcus and the rest for most of the morning. He had no luck at lunch when he found Courtney waiting for him by his locker.

“We’re having a meeting,” she said shortly. “After school. At Monet’s.”

“And I’m invited?” asked Clay incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Hell no. I’m not walking to my own murder.”

The rigidness of Courtney’s expression softened slightly. “We’re not going to hurt you, Clay.”

“You already tried to get me suspended. Why should I believe you?”

“We had to do something. Do you know how much trouble we’re going to get into?”

Clay leaned against his locker, his gaze surveying Courtney intently. “I listened to my tape last night.”

Courtney stilled. She closed her eyes. “Clay…I’m sorry.”

The words were filled with sincerity. Clay nodded. “Thanks. Courtney, I have no interest in meeting with you guys now or ever.”

“You don’t understand. This is serious,” said Courtney, her expression pained. “The secretaries won’t stop talking about it. Bolan, Childs and Porter have to give depositions, too. Someone gave our names to the Bakers.”

Her tone turned accusatory and her eyes narrowed. Clay gave a hollow laugh. “It wasn’t me. I told Justin and Zach before that I wasn’t going to bring the tapes to public knowledge. I meant it. I don’t know why we all got subpoenaed. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. We all spent time with Hannah and I’m sure people noticed.”

“So it wasn’t you?” pressed Courtney.

“It wasn’t me.”

“The Bakers and their lawyer don’t know anything?”

“The Bakers and their lawyer don’t know anything.”

“Okay.” Courtney’s shoulders relaxed slightly. The information on the tapes was still under lock and key. “You really should come and talk with us, Clay. We all need to be on the same page.”

Clay blinked. “Same page for what?”

“The depositions.”

“Wait, wait.” Clay held up a hand. “You’re telling me, if the questions stray too close to the topic of the tapes, you’re going to lie?”

“We have to!”

“That’s perjury! That’s jail time!”

“No one will find out,” said Courtney calmly.

Clay looked at her, long and hard. “I don’t know what delusions you’ve got stored in your mind, Courtney, but you need to get back to reality. This isn’t a game. Decisions were made. Consequences happened. Consequences that are on all of us. I didn’t tell them anything. But I’m not going to lie. I’m not risking jail for you guys, who have your heads stuck so far up your asses it’s astonishing.”

He threw open his locker door and grabbed his bagged lunch. He ignored Courtney’s protests and walked away from her. “Want me to eavesdrop on what they’re saying?” asked Hannah.

“I don’t know how much good that will do,” said Clay. “Marcus will know you’re there.”

“Can’t hurt to try,” replied Hannah.

“All right. I’ll wait for you at my place. I’m not going anywhere near those guys right now.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

…

Once school was over Hannah made a beeline for Monet’s. She phased through the wall and found that she was the first one there. She leaned next to the door and waited for the others to arrive.

They filed in one by one, and if they were trying not to look shifty and suspicious, they were failing miserably. Marcus and Courtney came into the café last and Marcus froze when a sharp cold washed over him.

“Did you tell Clay we’d be here?” he demanded.

“Yes,” said Courtney tightly. “I invited him, but he said no.”

“Why would you do that? Now she’s—”

“Oh, shut up, Marcus,” said Courtney furiously. “I’m sick of your ghost talk.”

She strode purposefully for the table the others had claimed and Marcus clenched his fists by his sides. He followed her stiffly and Hannah snickered. She lazily walked after them and perched on the edge of the table between Zach and Alex.

“We can’t talk here,” insisted Marcus.

“You’re the one that chose this spot,” said Alex in bafflement.

“Ignore him,” said Courtney in irritation. “He’s spewing nonsense about Ghost Hannah again.”

“Lay off, man,” said Zach with a scowl. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Do you not feel how cold it is in here?” said Marcus in frustration. “How random rooms will be freaking freezing and other rooms are fine?”

“Okay, yeah, that’s weird, but that doesn’t mean a ghost has something to do with it,” said Ryan with a roll of his eyes. “I think the guilt is finally eating away at you.”

“I don’t feel guilty,” said Marcus frostily. “I have nothing to feel guilty for.”

“Wow,” said Alex flatly. “Asshole.”

“Thank you,” said Hannah with a sniff.

“Fine.” Marcus dropped into the last remaining chair. “If you want her to run back to Clay and tell him everything we said—”

“If he bothered to come like I asked he would have heard anything anyway,” snapped Courtney.

Alex turned to face her. “You invited Clay?”

“Yeah. But refused to come.”

“Probably because he’s the one who gave the Bakers our names,” said Marcus acidly.

“He didn’t. He said, and I quote, ‘I didn’t tell them anything. But I’m not going to lie. I’m not risking jail for you guys, who have your heads stuck so far up your asses it’s astonishing.’”

Ryan gave a slow clap. “Good for him.”

“Did you hear what she said?” Marcus snapped. “He’s not going to lie.”

“Good. For. Him,” repeated Ryan, not breaking eye contact. “Let me tell you something, Marcus. I’m not going to jail for your sorry ass either.”

“Do you see what he’s doing to us?”

“He’s doing the right thing,” said Alex coldly. “He’s going to tell the truth. I agree with him.”

“We don’t even know what the truth is,” said Marcus calmly. “Don’t let Clay cloud your judgement.”

“The only one clouding my judgement is you,” said Alex sourly.

Before Marcus could reply a figure approached the table. They all jumped and Courtney asked in disbelief, “How did you find us?”

“I deserve to be here,” said Tyler stubbornly. “This concerns me too.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Courtney sharply. “Go.”

“Are you excluding me because you don’t like me or because I embarrassed you?” asked Tyler with narrowed eyes.

“Just let him stay,” said Alex with a sigh.

“I second that,” spoke Zach. “No one put you in charge of this meeting anyway, Courtney.”

Tyler immediately grabbed a chair from a neighbouring table and dragged it over. Hannah rested her chin against her knuckles. “This is an interesting development.”

“I don’t think any of this matters,” said Ryan calmly. “Even if Clay didn’t tell them anything, and I believe he didn’t, we all got subpoenas.”

“Sheri didn’t,” returned Marcus.

“Maybe not yet. Did you ask her to come?”

“Yeah. But I guess she’s trying to avoid the whole thing.”

“Doesn’t your dad know anything?” Courtney asked Alex.

“He prefers to sweep things like this under the rug,” he answered.

“That’s perfect,” spoke Marcus.

Alex snorted. “Yeah, he doesn’t care about you.”

“We need to get our stories straight here and now,” said Courtney firmly. “If we go into those depositions without matching stories it’s going to be bad for all of us.”

“You obviously have already come up with a story,” said Alex. “So what is it?”

“She was needy, emotionally unstable, and she thought everyone was out to get here,” said Courtney promptly. “We tried to be her friends. She blamed us for her problems.”

“It doesn’t matter what you come up with,” said Zach. “There are three people not here right now who are likely to say whatever they want.”

“Where are Jessica and Justin?” said Marcus with a frown. “They should be here.”

“They weren’t at school,” reported Tyler.

Alex and Zach exchanged an uneasy look that was not missed by Courtney. “What happened?” she asked worriedly.

“Justin accused Bryce of rape last night,” said Zach grimly. “He told Jessica everything on the tapes was true.”

Marcus looked like he had been punched in the stomach. So did Hannah. “Holy crap,” she whispered.

_Jessica…_

“He mentioned the tapes?” asked Courtney fearfully.

“No. But he called Bryce a rapist in front of the guys and basically confirmed that everything Hannah said was true.”

A nervous silence fell over the table. Ryan raised his chin and said, “Good for Justin. He’s right.”

“Hannah is a liar,” said Courtney fiercely.

“I can’t believe you,” said Ryan in annoyance. “The only girl at this table and that’s the position you take?”

“She _is_.”

“She isn’t,” said Alex bluntly. “Because everything she said in my tape is true.”

“Same here,” said Ryan with a nod.

“Yeah,” whispered Tyler. “Same.”

“All we have to do is change the narrative,” said Marcus, leaning forwards on his elbows. “If we bring Bryce into this—”

“You can screw right off,” said Ryan with a derisive scoff. “You and Courtney. I am not working with a rapist.

“Alleged—”

“I said screw off, Courtney.”

“What if we turned him in?” suggested Tyler. “Why are we protecting him, anyway?”

“We’re not,” said Marcus. “We’re protecting ourselves. I applied early admit to Columbia, Zach’s got scholarships and I know you’ve got plans, Ryan.”

“I don’t,” said Alex with a shrug.

“The school just needs a scapegoat,” insisted Tyler. “If we confirm Hannah’s story about Bryce, the Bakers will have someone to charge.”

“So we sacrifice Bryce to save our butts,” said Marcus thoughtfully.

“Yeah.”

“I think that’s something even Hannah would be okay with.”

Hannah scowled. “Oh, you do not get to speak for me.”

“Problem with that,” said Ryan with a raised brow. “The Bakers don’t have much money. Bryce’s family is filthy rich. They’ll just make this all go away.”

“Tyler has a point. Nothing we did compares to what he did,” said Courtney slowly.

“Are you kidding?” demanded Alex angrily.

“You’re going to defend Bryce?” Zach asked Alex incredulously.

“No, but why does that suddenly matter to you?” retorted Alex. “You’ve been defending him for weeks.”

“I haven’t. I just didn’t want this to blow up.”

“Too late,” muttered Ryan.

“Justin let Bryce do it and then he lied about it. Justin will go to jail too,” said Alex.

“Justin is my best friend and he doesn’t give a crap about me right now,” said Zach, his expression pained. “You think I care about him?”

“What about Jessica?” insisted Ryan. “Telling them about Hannah is one thing, but we don’t get to make that choice for Jessica.”

“Then I guess she should have answered my call,” said Courtney dismissively.

“You need to listen to yourself for one second,” said Ryan in disgust.

“You know what I think?” said Alex. “I think—no, I _know_ —everything Hannah said was true. Courtney, you’re gay. Tyler, you’re a stalker. Ryan, you’re an arrogant, selfish asshole. Zach, you did something unnecessarily cruel. Sheri is a coward who got Jeff killed, and Justin is a coward for never being able to stand up to Bryce. Jessica and I were horrible friends, and Marcus, you’re an entitled asshole.”

“Alex—”

“No, I’m not done. Clay was right. Clay was right about all of us. At one point or another, we were friends of Hannah, or tried to be. But Clay was the only one who did it right. Everything we did to her, everything we put her through, wasn’t enough for his friendship and love to overcome. If we had all been there for Hannah, if we had gotten over ourselves and apologized and tried to be better, she’d still be here. She’d still be alive.”

Zach swallowed thickly. Any misgivings he had about telling the truth disappeared when he thought about his interaction with Clay in his front yard, Hannah’s letter clutched in Zach’s hand.

_“If Hannah had written me a note like that I wouldn’t want anyone to read it. It’s yours, Zach. She trusted you enough to pour out her deepest emotions to you.”_

“We tell the truth,” he said with finality.

“And let it land where it will,” said Ryan with a nod.

“I didn’t mean for us to tell the truth about everything,” said Tyler nervously.

“Why?” said Zach with a sneer. “You’ve got more pictures squirrelled away?”

“No one is going to believe you anyway, Tyler,” said Courtney disdainfully. “They’ll just laugh at you.”

Tyler rested a hand against his bookbag, where the freshly-bought gun was nestled inside. “They won’t,” he said softly.

“Hannah’s truth is not my truth,” said Courtney with a raised chin.

Alex moved his gaze between her, Marcus and Tyler. “Then I guess its you against us.”

“Alex, you don’t know what you’re doing,” said Marcus tightly.

“I do.” Alex stood, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder. “I failed Hannah once. I’m not doing it again.”

He turned on his heel and strode out of the café. Ryan nodded and got up from his chair. “I published a poem. A beautiful, meaningful poem written by a soulful girl. I won’t shy away from that.”

With his lips pressed into a determined line, Zach also stood. “I’m done. I’m not going to paint Hannah as a liar when she’s not even here to defend herself. You’re on your own.”

Hannah watched them leave, gratitude and an affection she thought to be lost welling within her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Seriously.”

Not wanting to stay and hear the remaining three talk more trash about her, Hannah departed. When she arrived at Clay’s house she flew through his window and found him sitting at his desk. She gave him a rundown of the conversation the group had had and Clay let out a sigh of relief.

“At least some of them are going to tell the truth. That’ll make it hard for Marcus and Courtney to try and lie their way out of things.”

“I feel so sorry for Jessica,” said Hannah sadly. “To be told like that, it must have been horrible.”

“I’m going to help her,” said Clay determinedly. “I promise, Hannah.”

He slid the Walkman out of his bag. Before he put on the headphones, Hannah said, “Clay, the tape you’re about to listen to—it gets worse.”

Clay glanced at her. Her chin was trembling and her fingers were twisting together anxiously. His chest squeezed tight and a heavy knot of fear formed in his stomach. If Hannah was giving him a warning, then it meant that what he was about to hear would most likely devastate him.

_I’ve come this far. I can’t stop now._

And he truly didn’t see how his heart could be broken any further.

He gave a nod to show that he had heard her before slipping on the headphones and pressing ‘play’.

_“Tape 12. Can’t believe we’re finally here. If you’ve listened this far and haven’t heard your name, I bet you know what’s coming next. But maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re that much of a monster. I guess we’ll see. I’m going to start at the beginning of the worst day of my life.”_

Hannah recounted the argument her parents had had about their finances. In an attempt to help, she had offered to take the deposit to the bank for its afternoon deadline. Loaded down with her purse, the deposit and a drink, she had stacked some stuff on the roof of her car to free her hands.

She had paused when she received a text from him. Distracted by this, and the resulting phone call, she had forgotten to put the deposit into the car.

Clay closed his eyes. He remembered that conversation. She had come up to the ticket booth and his heart had pounded in his chest. Her short hair brushed her chin and her eyes had shone hopefully at him. She hadn’t wanted him to mail her last paycheck. She had wanted to see him.

The air had hung thick and awkward between them. They had talked briefly about Jeff’s funeral. A few feeble jokes had been made, but they didn’t hit quite the same as before.

_“I wanted to tell Clay everything. But how could I, after that night at the party?”_

Things had changed between them, and it was mostly his fault. She had tried to be normal. She had tried to engage him in full conversation. But he hadn’t accepted the olive branch.

And his text, the one that had Hannah jumping for a chance to speak with him, had caused her to lose the deposit. Her parents had been furious, of course. In such dire financial straits, they hadn’t been able to afford that seven-hundred-dollar loss.

_“It seemed like no matter what I did, I kept letting people down. I started thinking how everyone’s life would be better without me. You wouldn’t think nothing has a feeling. But it does. It’s an endless void that envelops you. And you might think about the signs that you missed. But here’s the thing. Nothing looks like nothing, even if it doesn’t feel like nothing. I went for a walk that night. Back to my old neighbourhood, where things were simpler. Up the hill where the rich people lived. And that’s when I heard it. Music. The thrum of voices. It was a party.”_

_No, Hannah,_ thought Clay desperately. _No._

But she did.

She had followed the call of the party into Bryce’s yard. She had found Jessica, Justin and Zach in the hot tub, and she had let Jessica convince her to strip down to her underwear and join them.

Like they were still friends. Like nothing had happened between them.

_“And I can’t explain it. But sitting under the stars, I felt at peace for the first time in days.”_

One by one, they had left her in the hot tub. Left her to be joined by Bryce.

Left her to be raped.

She had tried to leave. But Bryce had grabbed her, fondled her, and pinned her against the hot tub. He had taken her wrists and held her down. Restrained her as the water began to slosh around her, the splashing mingling with her pained and panicked gasps and cries, her pleas for him to stop—

_“The way I see it, there are two different kinds of death. If you’re lucky, you live a long life, and one day your body stops working and it’s over. But if you’re not lucky, you die a little bit. Over and over again. Until you realize it’s too late.”_

When it was over, he had left her as if nothing had happened. She had dragged herself out of the hot tub, got dressed, and walked home barefoot, soaking wet and traumatized.

_“I know some of you might think there was more I could have done, or should have done. I’d lost control. And in that moment, it felt like I was already dead. I thought I could forget about it. But thanks to you, Bryce, I’d finally lived up to my reputation. I knew there was no way I could ever live that down._

_“I thought the least I could do was set the record straight. So I made a list. Trying to figure out how my life had gone wrong. The names that came out…well, the names I came up with are how the tapes came to be. Life is unpredictable. And sometimes all that unpredictability is overwhelming. It makes us feel small and powerless. And once I took a look back, and I finally understood how everything happened, I decided that no one would ever hurt me again.”_

The tape ended and Clay felt numb. The static whirred in his ears as he stared blankly at his desktop. The mental image of Bryce holding Hannah down, as he had held Jessica down, caused his stomach to lurch violently.

He yanked off his headphones and sprinted for the bathroom. Bile spewed from his throat and into the toilet, hot and burning. He gripped the edge of the seat as he hacked, horror and fury and devastation consuming him.

Hannah placed a hand on his forehead, the chill a small comfort. “Clay, I’m right here,” she said soothingly. “Try to breath for me.”

He took gulping breaths, which barely made it past the thick knot in his chest. “I didn’t know,” he croaked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Talk later,” said Hannah firmly. “You need to calm down first.”

For ten minutes Clay sat on the tiles of his bathroom floor, puke sticking to his chin and his body shaking. When his breathing became less ragged, and he got the trembling under control, he stood up and flushed the toilet. He washed his face and rinsed out his mouth at the sink before trudging back to his room, his vision blurring at the edges.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he repeated.

“Who would believe me?” asked Hannah softly, joining him as he dropped onto his bed. “Bryce is…Bryce. Extremely rich with a powerful family. I was the class slut. I had no delusions of how that would go.”

“But your parents—?”

“I couldn’t tell them,” she whispered. “When I got home, after it happened, they were sleeping on the couch. I remember standing there, watching them, dripping onto the carpet. I really did think I’d be able to move on. To forget about it. But I was already broken. What Bryce did…it shattered me completely. I felt completely dead inside.”

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” said Clay wretchedly. “I’m so sorry.”

He leaned over to wrap his arms around her and his warmth pulsed through her ghostly form. Hannah screwed her eyes shut and her shoulders started to shake. “It was horrible,” she sobbed. “It was so horrible, Clay. I just wanted to die while he was doing it so I wouldn’t feel anything.”

“He’s not getting away with this,” said Clay, and rage overpowered his grief and distress. “We’re bringing him to justice.”

“How?” asked Hannah with a sniff. “Ryan has a point. His family can just make something like this go away. It’s his word against mine.”

“It’s his word against yours and Jessica’s,” corrected Clay.

“You can’t make her speak up if she doesn’t want to,” said Hannah firmly. She eased back to look into Clay’s eyes. The tears that glimmered caused her own blue orbs to go bright. “And if she doesn’t…”

“Then we’ll need a backup plan,” said Clay. He swiped away the tears and swung himself out of bed. He paced the length of his bedroom, his mind whirring with thoughts and his eyes blazing. “There’s no way he’s going to pass on these tapes, Hannah. It’ll be the end of it, and it won’t matter if Tony has an extra set.”

“So what do we do?”

“We need him to confess,” said Clay with narrowed eyes.

“Clay, he’s not going to confess to anyone.”

“Well, he won’t if I don’t try. The recording equipment you borrowed to make these tapes—did it come from Tony?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t know what I wanted it for.” Hannah’s brow furrowed as Clay whipped out his phone and typed out a text. “Clay, what are you up to?”

“I’m going to Bryce’s,” said Clay determinedly. “Somehow I’m going to get a recording of him saying he raped you.”

“That’s dangerous,” protested Hannah, jumping to her feet. “You can’t!”

“I can and I will.”

“Clay, this isn’t what I wanted—”

“And I didn’t want you dead,” said Clay loudly, cutting her off. “Things change, Hannah. It’s like you said. Life is unpredictable. But I’m not going to give up. I won’t let the ones who hurt you get away with it. I have to try, Hannah. For you and for Jessica.”

He was looking at her with such ferocious devotion and love and Hannah didn’t think she deserved any of it. “I’m coming with you,” she said, her breath hitching.

“Okay,” said Clay with a nod. “But don’t interfere unless I tell you to. Promise?”

“I promise.”

There was reluctance in her tone and Clay frowned. “I need you to mean it, Hannah.”

“I promise, Clay,” said Hannah. “I just…if it hurts you, it’s going to be hard to watch.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve learned that I’m tougher than I think.”

And for that, Hannah was immensely grateful.

…

“Why do you want this?”

The question was thrown at Clay the second Tony opened the front door to the Padilla household. Clay raised a brow and said, “Wow. Not even a greeting?”

“I’m serious,” snapped Tony, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why do you want to switch out my Walkman for this?”

“I have a plan,” said Clay simply.

“I’m gonna need more than that,” said Tony sharply.

“It’s got something to do with Bryce.”

“Oh, hell no. Are you crazy? I told you I’d help you when—”

“I know,” interrupted Clay. “But this…this is something I have to do.”

“It’s not a good idea, Clay.”

As Tony started to step back inside his house with his device in hand, Clay reached out and grabbed Tony firmly by the shoulders. “Do you trust me?” he asked seriously.

Tony hesitated. Stared into the blue eyes that were regarding him so intently. After a moment of thought, Tony let out an annoyed breath and shoved the rectangular cassette recorder/player into Clay’s chest. “You text me when you’re finished,” he said sternly. “If I don’t hear from you by nine o’clock, I’m storming Bryce’s myself. You hearing me?”

“Yeah,” said Clay, shoving the equipment into his bag. “Thanks, Tony. It’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll text you when I’m done.”

Without waiting for Tony’s response and ignoring his worried gaze, Clay jumped down the porch steps and grabbed his bike. He pedalled through the streets and, when Hannah realized his destination, said, “Wait, I thought you were going to Bryce’s.”

“I am. In a few minutes. Just want to make a stop first.”

There was a small part of Clay that was absolutely terrified. A piece of his mind was yelling at him, telling him that there was no way in hell that he’d be able to pull this off. Determination charged through his body, but his feet still faltered and his hands were reluctant to turn the handlebars in the direction of the wealthy neighbourhood on the hill.

He would do anything for Hannah. But courage…courage wasn’t his strong suit.

He needed one more push, something to solidify the confidence that he didn’t really have.

“I’ll be back,” he said as he rested his bike by the utility pole outside of the Bakers’ pharmacy.

“All right,” said Hannah in confusion.

Clay stepped into the pharmacy, the bell chiming overhead. He walked instinctively over to the candy section, aware of Mr. Baker’s eyes on him. He perused his options, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

_This is so stupid. What am I doing?_

He hoped the sight of Hannah’s parents would be enough to propel him forwards. But the jitteriness remained in his bones and he didn’t know how to get rid of it. The little courage he had about facing the task before him began to slip.

Clay seized some candy and chocolate and started up to the counter. He paused upon spotting a shelf of blue nail polish, the same colour Hannah had used to number her tapes.

His determination flared. He grabbed a bottle.

He put his purchases on the counter and Mr. Baker raised a brow at the nail polish, but did not comment. He paused upon spotting the purple-wrapped Cadbury bars and Clay said, without thinking about it, “They were her favourite.”

Mr. Baker’s eyes snapped up to meet his. The shock on his face melted into realization. “Clay Jensen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“My wife has told me a lot about you. She said you were Hannah’s best friend.”

“Yeah. We spent a lot of time together,” said Clay softly. He extended a hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t come see you before. It’s…it’s been really hard.”

Something glimmered in Mr. Baker’s eyes, a mix of gratitude and understanding. He shook Clay’s hand firmly. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad I finally get the chance to meet you. Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

“Me too,” whispered Clay.

Mr. Baker ran his items over the scanner and gave him his total. Clay handed over a bill and accepted the change, jamming it into the pocket of his hoodie. “The nail polish,” spoke Mr. Baker hesitantly. “Is it…”

“It’s because of Hannah,” muttered Clay, staring at the counter. “She…she was wearing it the last time we hung out. It’s weird, I know—”

“It’s not,” said Mr. Baker with a shake of his head. His eyes grew watery. “She must have meant a lot to you, for you to remember such a small detail.”

The bell chimed again and Mrs. Baker walked into the store, a square package in her hands. Her flustered, tight expression immediately vanished upon spotting the familiar teenager. “Clay!”

“Hi, Mrs. Baker.”

“I’m so glad you stopped by! Do you have a minute to talk?” she asked hopefully.

“Sure,” replied Clay.

“Olivia—” started Mr. Baker warningly, but his wife breezed past him, delving into the backroom in search of something. Letting out a sharp sigh through his nose, he said, “Excuse us for a moment, Clay.”

“No problem.”

He disappeared after his wife. As he was waiting something frigid grasped his elbow and Clay whirled around. “What are you—?”

The words died in his throat at the anguished expression Hannah wore. “They can’t see me,” she said with a sob. “Mom and Dad—they can’t see me. I didn’t see Mom driving up and…and she walked right by me. She looked right at me.”

“Oh, Hannah, I’m so sorry,” said Clay lowly.

“It’s better this way,” said Hannah with a hiccup. “But it still hurts. I’d hoped…I’d hoped I’d be able to have at least one conversation with them.”

The Bakers returned, leaving Clay unable to provide her with verbal comfort. Instead, he thrust a hand behind his back and she grasped it, feeling his warmth seep through her transparent fingers.

“I found this in Hannah’s closet,” said Mrs. Baker in a rush. “I tried asking Tony about it, but he claimed that he didn’t know anything. He said that Hannah had secrets and he…he wouldn’t tell us…”

Clay stared at the wrinkled lined piece of paper she pressed flat in front of him. “It looks like a map,” he said in surprise.

He hadn’t meant to speak aloud. The shock of physically seeing how Hannah came up with the names for her tapes caused him to forget himself. Mrs. Baker jumped on his slip. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking! Do you know what she was trying to map?”

She and Mr. Baker were looking at him with such hope and quiet desperation. Clay swallowed, a lie forming on his tongue, but Hannah lightly jabbed his side. “Give them something. Not everything, mind you. But something vague. I hate seeing them like this.”

Her voice trembled. Clay swallowed back the fib and tried for something sincere. “I think…I think Hannah felt very intensely,” he said at last. “Not that that was a bad thing. But I think she just felt things more deeply. So when it all became too much, she might have tried to figure it out by writing it down. That’s just a guess, though.”

“No, no, I think you’re right,” said Mrs. Baker with a nod. “She did feel emotions very strongly. Do you know these names?”

“Sure. We shared classes with most of them.”

“Tony’s name has a question mark beside it.” Mrs. Baker pointed it out. “Do you know why?”

“I don’t think she and Tony spoke very much,” said Clay slowly. “I know he helped her out when she was having car troubles at the Winter Formal. But they didn’t really hang out or anything. Maybe she was confused about where Tony fit in.”

“What do the arrows mean? Is that why Tony isn’t connected?”

“I think so. As for the arrows, I’m not sure. Like I said, I think this is her map. Maybe these are the directions she settled on.”

Mrs. Baker stared at the paper with her brow furrowed. “Tony said Hannah had secrets,” she said, her voice shaking. “Do you know what they were?”

“I’m sorry,” said Clay, succeeding in keeping the guilt and pain off his face. “We…we didn’t talk about secrets or anything like that. We—”

“You did tell me that,” said Mrs. Baker. “I’m sorry, Clay.”

She wiped at her eyes, which were gathering tears, and Mr. Baker set a hand against her shoulder. “You don’t know anything about this paper?” he asked Clay.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

His eyes traced the arrows, and his gut went cold and then hot as he found Bryce’s, which Hannah had circled several times. She had pressed so hard on the pen that it created small tears in the paper. She had poured her anguish and fury into that one action, and spilled her brokenness into his tape.

The jitters vanished. His limbs, which had trembled minutely, finally stilled. His chest loosened. The anxiety was drowned out by a ferocious rage.

No. He didn’t have natural courage or confidence. But he had love. Love for Hannah, which burned bright in his heart, and fondness for her parents, who stood before him with grief in their eyes. He would make his love more powerful than his fear.

He would not be intimidated. He would not run away.

“I have to go,” he said regretfully. “Um, I’ve been subpoenaed, so I’ll be sure to tell your lawyer everything I know. About the picture and the hot list and, you know, whatever else I can think of.”

“Thank you, Clay,” said Mrs. Baker.

She stepped forwards and gathered him into her arms. She hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, “I’m so glad she had a friend like you.”

Tears blurred Clay’s vision and when she eased back, he scrubbed them away. “I’m glad I had her too,” he said.

Mr. Baker embraced him next and, after assuring them he would be fine riding his bike home, Clay left the pharmacy.

“Come on,” he said, his eyes narrowing into slits. “We’re getting that confession.”

…

The sky was pitch-black by the time Clay arrived at Bryce’s mansion on the hill. With steely resolve he rang the doorbell, refraining from shifting on his feet as he waited for someone to answer. It came as a relief when Bryce was the one who opened the door—Clay hadn’t quite rehearsed what he would say if his parents were the ones to greet him.

“Jensen,” said Bryce in disbelief, his brow raising. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I would have called, but I didn’t have your number,” said Clay, trying to sound as apologetic as possible. “Um, I know this gonna sound weird, but I was hoping I could buy some weed from you.”

Bryce’s brow rose even further. He stepped onto the porch and took a sweeping glance of his surroundings. When he didn’t find anything suspicious, he placed his gaze back on the junior. “You want to buy weed from me?”

“Yeah. I’m, uh, not having a great time, emotionally, and I think weed is supposed to help with that,” muttered Clay. “But I can go if—”

“It’s fine,” interjected Bryce. He stepped aside and motioned for Clay to walk past him.

He obeyed and, when he ventured inside the lavish and elegant sitting room, he tried not to let the shock show on his face. Hannah looked around with great distaste, hatred in her eyes whenever they fell upon Bryce.

“There’s a rumour floating around,” said Bryce conversationally, easing the door shut and moving into the room. “The drug cop stopped by for an inspection in your class. Someone tipped Childs off that you were smuggling weed into the school.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s a thing that happened.”

“How’d you avoid getting caught?” asked Bryce with intrigue.

Clay shrugged. “Quick thinking, I guess. I threw it out the window when the fire alarm went off. The distraction fell in my lap so I took advantage of it.”

“Huh. Who would have thought?” said Bryce with a grin. “Clay Jensen dirtying his hands.” He opened up a wooden box by a tray of alcohol and said, “I’ll hook you up tonight because honestly you look like you really need it. I’ve got a bunch on hand so it’s not like I’ll be missing it. But I’m not a dealer, all right? If you want this to be regular thing, I can connect you with my guy.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Clay. In a more bewildered tone, he asked, “You keep it on the coffee table?”

“Not usually,” said Bryce with a laugh. “My parents are gone for a week in Ibiza. No point in hiding it when they’re not even here. What do you want? An eighth?”

“Sure,” said Clay.

“Indica or sativa?”

Having absolutely no idea what those terms meant Clay took a chance. “Hybrid.”

“I gotta say, man, I didn’t take you for a stoner.”

“Well, you never know what’s going on in someone else’s life, right?” replied Clay. He wandered over to the windows that overlooked the beautifully landscaped backyard. His stomach turned as he stared blankly at the hot tub, which bubbled tauntingly at him. “This place must be amazing for parties,” he said casually.

“I’ve thrown some legendary ones,” boasted Bryce.

Clay’s blue eyes were trained on the hot tub. Hannah came to stand beside him. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her breath shuddering as she followed Clay’s gaze. Her face was contorted with anguish and trauma and Clay said, in as low a voice as he could, “You don’t have to stay.”

“I do.” She inhaled sharply. “I won’t let myself be scared of him. I’m not leaving you.”

Clay spun on his heel and walked over to his backpack. “I’ll get my cash,” he spoke. “How much do I owe you?”

“Most people pay sixty for an eighth.”

“All right.”

He pretended to rummage through his backpack, nimble fingers pressing buttons that would set up the tape recording. Bryce watched him for a moment before shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, buddy. Just bring some weed to my next party. We’ll call it even.”

“Sure.” Clay straightened and said, “Hannah Baker told me about one of your parties.”

“Hannah Baker,” said Bryce in surprise. “Huh. Sucks what happened to her.”

“Yeah,” said Clay tightly.

“She was a beautiful girl.”

Hannah shivered with revulsion.

Clay studied Bryce when he wasn’t looking, trying and failing to discern if he was remembering that fateful party accurately or if he had created his own version of it. “You and Hannah…did you have sex that night?”

“Probably,” said Bryce flippantly. “Actually, yeah, pretty sure we did.”

“Did she want it?”

“I assume so,” said Bryce with a shrug. He stood and patted Clay patronizingly on the shoulder. “She and I, we had a thing. Off and on.”

“You absolute liar,” said Hannah furiously.

Bryce started to walk away. Clay squared his shoulders, lifted his chin. “You raped her.”

The accusation splintered the calm and Clay could practically feel the tendrils of danger and warning curling through the air as Bryce turned back to face him. His face was impassive but there was something stirring behind his eyes.

“Clay, don’t talk about what you don’t know.”

“Why?” whispered Clay. “Why did you do that to her?”

“Thanks for coming over,” said Bryce politely. “Now get out.”

“I’m not leaving,” said Clay heatedly. “Not until you answer me.”

“Why is it any of your business?” demanded Bryce.

“She was my best friend,” snapped Clay.

“She’s dead. It doesn’t matter.”

Hannah clenched her fists. “You _are_ a monster.”

“If it doesn’t matter, then just tell me what happened,” said Clay angrily.

“You need to calm down,” said Bryce with narrowed eyes.

“No, I need you to admit what you did.” Clay was breathing heavily now. He pointed towards the windows and said, his voice hitching, “A week before she cut herself and died you raped her.”

“She came to my party,” said Bryce, jabbing a finger against his chest. “ _Mine_. She got into the hot tub with me without her bathing suit. She made those eyes. I know this must be hard to hear, because everyone in the damn school knew you were crushing on her, but she wasn’t as pure as you want to think. She wanted it. She was practically asking for it.”

Hannah gasped. Clay’s anger boiled over. He snapped out a fist and caught Bryce’s cheek. The impact sent pain through his knuckles and didn’t even leave behind a mark. Bryce heaved a sigh. “Why’d you have to go and do that?”

His punch sent Clay reeling to the floor. He felt warm blood on his cheek and he swayed in place for a moment, dazed. He looked at Bryce, who advanced upon him with an almost bored look, and punched him in the stomach. Clay buckled over, wheezing for air, and Bryce hauled him up by the shoulders.

“Clay!” shrieked Hannah as Bryce landed several consecutive hits to his face.

But Clay waved a hand, a silent warning for her to leave them be, and she covered her mouth with her hands, sobs leaving her throat as Bryce brutally beat him to a pulp. When Clay lay still on the carpet, Bryce finally stopped, shaking out his fist.

“She wanted me,” he said, as if nothing had interrupted their conversation. “I know she did. She was practically begging me to screw her. If that’s rape, then every girl at this school wants to be raped.”

Blood streamed from Clay’s lips, nose and forehead. He coughed wetly, more blood spewing from his mouth and trickling down his chin. Hannah rushed to his side, her eyes glimmering in despair and heartache. “Clay,” she said helplessly.

His ears were ringing. His vision faded in and out. He watched Bryce prepare himself a drink as he slowly hauled himself to his hands and knees. His head was killing him, his face was in agony, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He gripped his backpack and pulled himself into a leather armchair.

He turned to glare at Bryce, unflinching and unafraid. Bryce studied him for a moment before his face broke out into a grin. “Respect, Jensen. Respect.”

He wrapped some ice from the alcohol tray in a towel and made a second drink. He handed both items to Clay, who found himself not in a position to refuse them. With a gurgling exhale he took the ice and pressed it against the side of his head, to the bruise that throbbed the most. Bryce extended his glass and Clay paused before toasting with him, figuring now the best course of action would be to keep the jock calm and collected. He wouldn’t be able to take another beating.

He took a long swig of the drink, not carrying that it burned his throat and hoping it would numb him to the pain. “She got in the hot tub with you, and that means she wanted it?” asked Clay thickly. “She didn’t have to say anything?”

“She didn’t have to,” said Bryce matter-of-factly. “See, girls play games. She didn’t have to ask me to screw her. And she never said no.”

“So that’s not rape?”

“Why do you care so much?” asked Bryce.

“Because I cared about her,” said Clay softly. “And I need to know.”

Bryce’s lips quirked upwards. “You a virgin?”

Clay sighed, relocating the ice to his aching nose. “I think we both know you know the answer to that question.”

“Thought so. Listen, man, get laid a few times, get some experience, and then come back and we’ll discuss this like grownups. But to give you an answer, if you wanna call it rape, sure, call it rape. Same difference.”

Hannah’s eyes went wide. A delighted grin formed on her features. “No. Freaking. Way.”

Clay pushed down the bubbling glee. He nodded to show Bryce that he heard and drained the rest of his drink. He hoisted his backpack into his lap and turned off the tape. Zipping the compartment shut, he set the glass on Bryce’s end table.

“I should probably get going. Can I take this with me?”

He held up the makeshift ice-pack and Bryce snorted. “Yeah, I think you’re gonna need it.”

Clay swung his bag over his shoulder and hobbled towards the door. “Thanks for not murdering me,” he said dryly over his shoulder.

Bryce barked out a laugh. “No problem. Thanks for not bleeding all over the damn place.”

Clay stepped out into the night air and grabbed his bike. With one hand holding the ice-pack to his face he used the other to guide his bike down the street. When they were far enough away from Bryce’s house he erupted with a scream of pure elation.

“Wooooooooooo!”

“You did it!” shrieked Hannah, her hands on his shoulders as she flew above him. Peels of shocked, excited laughter mixed with his own celebratory screaming. “You freaking did it!”

“We got him!” whooped Clay. “We got the asshole!”

Blood poured down his face, stained his clothes, and the alcohol and adrenaline were doing wonders in suppressing his pain. In that moment, he didn’t care that he would have to invent a story to explain his extensive injuries to his parents. He had gotten what he wanted. He had gotten the ammo he needed.

When he reached his house, he shoved his bike into the garage. He spared a second to text Tony to let him know he was back home. Hannah raised her hand and levitated him to the roof, where he crawled over to his bedroom window and cranked it open. He tiptoed to the bathroom and cleaned out his wounds with water and disinfectant. When he was finished, he collapsed into his bed, the ice resting against his heavily bruised nose.

Hannah lay beside him and turned her head to rest in the crook of his neck. Her chill ran through his body and overrode the persistent dull ache. “Thank you, Clay,” she whispered. “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to—”

“I did,” interjected Clay, exhaustion leaking into his tone. “I’m not letting him get away with this, Hannah.”

In the afterglow of their triumph, they just barely registered the wail of sirens and flashing blue and red lights whipping past the house.


End file.
